Balancing His Ledger
by Joella
Summary: Hawkeye tries to come to terms with what Loki made him do and find his balance again as an agent of SHIELD and a member of the Avengers. Picks up near the end of the movie and continues to new adventures.
1. Chapter 1

**Balancing His Own Ledger**

Ch 1 - Battles Won

_I own nothing from the world of Marvel nor the Avengers except for some really cool memorabilia cards. This story begins near the end of the battle in the movie and then moves onward and beyond. _

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Clint Barton bit back most of a groan as he landed on a bed of broken glass and debris. As he shifted, a flare of pain erupted along his left leg causing him to gasp.

"Hawkeye? Report!" demanded Captain America over the comms. "Where are you?" He looked up along the wall of the building and was concerned when all he saw along the top edge was smoke and residual flame. No archer.

"About five stories below where I was thirty seconds ago. I'm out of arrows, so I'm headed towards the ground." _As soon as I catch my breath_, he thought. Clint hoped some of those Chitauri bodies he'd shot would be scattered on the ground so he could scavenge some arrows. That was one reason he liked a bow. You couldn't pick up an expended bullet and expect to be able to use it again. Clint shifted his body to free his trapped leg. It didn't feel broken. Biting back another groan, Clint closed his eyes for a moment. Trying to sit up, he couldn't suppress the cry of pain that escaped this time. It wasn't broken. It was dislocated.

"Clint?" Natasha Romanov's voice came over the comm this time. She'd heard.

"Focus," he said. That one word spoke volumes. They'd been on dozens of jobs and sometimes one or the other was injured. _ Focus_ was their code that meant _yes, I'm hurt but I'll live so pay attention and do whatever you need to do. I'll catch up._

"Got it." The Black Widow turned her attention back to shutting off the tesseract leaving her partner to get to ground level as best he could.

Using his bow, Clint levered himself to his feet. Spotting a tall filing cabinet, he hopped over to it. It felt stuffed full when he rocked it; it should be heavy enough. Using the wall behind it as a brace, Clint slowly slid to the floor then rolled over. Grasping the left leg of his pants, he wedged his leg all the way to mid calf behind the cabinet. Clint took his comm out of his ear and palmed it tightly to muffle any sound. Bracing, Clint twisted his torso up and over forcing his leg back into its proper place. His howl of pain could still be heard over the comms.

"Barton? Hawkeye!" Steve Rogers didn't want to lose another comrade. While Stark was completely human, his metal exoskeleton protected him from a lot of things. He'd realized that Romanov and Barton were the two with the most to lose. Yet neither one of them had held back in this battle. When Natasha had vouched for Barton in the medical center, he'd accepted that this man would be a teammate and member of the Avengers. "Barton!" he demanded again.

"Leave it, Rogers. He'll be okay." Natasha knew the others would lose focus until they understood Clint's status, and it seemed like it might be a while before he made it to the battlefield. Just because he'd told her he'd live did not mean that he wasn't injured, maybe even severely. Just not fatally.

Trusting in her understanding of her partner, Rogers said, "All right. Let's get back to work."

Back in the building, Clint took another deep breath and reinserted his comm in his ear. It didn't sound like he'd missed much. All the others' voices could be heard, and he didn't need a comm to know where the Hulk was. Now he had to figure out a way to get groundside. Although his hip bone was back in place, chances were some muscles were torn, and there was no way he'd could walk down to ground level. Clint pried open the elevator doors and looked up then down until he found the elevator below him. It wasn't moving; something must have taken out the power grid. He'd jabbed the button repeatedly but all that got him was a sore finger and shortened his temper. Reaching into a thigh pocket, Clint took out a carabiner and gloves that fit over his finger guard. He locked onto the cable and dropped. He really hoped that cable was new or at least not frayed. Wire splinters would rip his hands to shreds. For once, his luck held. Maybe things were looking up.

Dropping carefully down into the car, Clint forced the doors open and stepped into the rubble-filled lobby. Not spotting any civilians that needed help, Clint eased into the dust-filled street. Rotating his head from side to side, Clint determined that the fight had moved west of his current location. Keeping an eye out for Chitari, Clint headed that way keeping to the side of the street. He came across a couple of Chitari bodies pierced by his arrows and took the time to pull them out, clean them, and reinsert them into his quiver. He keyed one with an explosive to be ready to shoot.

Moving forward, Clint listened to what was being said on the comms. He heard Natasha say that she could close the rift. He heard Stark say that a nuke was headed for Manhattan. That he had an idea. To not close the rift. Not yet.

Clint could see the trail of Stark's jets. He could see the top of Stark Tower and the stream of the tesseract. He tried to speed up, but his body would not cooperate. The time spent under Loki's spell plus the strain of the battle had taken a tremendous toll. Finding reserves within, Clint moved closer to the bridge. He could hear Thor's hammer striking aliens. It had a very distinctive sound.

Looking up again, he saw Stark enter the void carrying the nuke. He froze. Waiting. Would they know when it went off? How was Stark planning to return? Shaking his head, Clint kept moving. He couldn't do any good standing around and just thinking; he could fight. Spotting a cluster of Chitari, with one smooth motion, Clint drew the arrow, nocked it, and sent it off. The explosive charge took out not only the one he shot but also the four standing around it. He sent off his second scavenged arrow and prepared to use his bow as a quarterstaff once again. Sweeping the alien's legs out from under it, Clint pulled his knife and moved under its reach as it lunged for him. Apparently they had jugular veins too. Avoiding the stream of green ichor, Clint dropped away to a crouch. He stood and faced another squad moving his way. Standing, Clint tested his balance to see how badly his leg would hinder him. He had braced to attack when it happened.

The Chitari collapsed. All of them. The comms told him that the others had seen the same phenomenon. He looked up hoping for the sight of Stark. Roger's muttering echoed his own wishes, and his heart sank when Roger's gave the order to Natasha to close the portal.

The first smile to cross Clint's face since Loki's attack was caused by the sight of Stark falling back into their atmosphere. It was wiped off as he realized, as did the others, that Stark must have been unconscious. He'd hit the ground like a meteor. Clint looked around for a mechanized scooter. Maybe he could hot wire it and… Hearing Thor activate his hammer to retrieve Stark, Clint too was startled when the Hulk plucked the falling genius out of the sky and brought the Iron Man down to safety.

"Ha!" said Rogers.

Time to rejoin the others. Feeling what little energy he had left slipping away with every step, Clint was so focused on placing one foot in front of the other that he didn't realize it when he reached the others and hadn't even heard about schwarma at all.

Rogers was the first to notice Clint. The man's face was grey with dust, and he was not walking in a straight line. He helped Stark stand.

"There's one thing left" Stark said turning to look up at his battle-scarred tower.

"Loki," Thor spoke. He regretted what his brother had done to his adopted world. There would be a reckoning.

Only Stark was paying attention to Barton to see the change in the assassin at the demi-god's name. At first he assumed the man's shaking was due to exhaustion or maybe even fear. The man had been soul-raped and that had to have left a mark. But then Clint raised his head and Stark read the anger and hatred burning in the man's grey eyes. Catching' the archer's eyes, Stark jerked his head to one side to indicate they should talk away from the others.

Cutting straight to the bone, Stark asked, "What are you going to do? He _is_ a demi-god you understand." He was subtly letting the man know that demi-gods did bleed, and they could be killed. "He's also Thor's brother."

Processing the information, Clint ran through his choices. He could leave it alone and just deal with the shame. He could kill Loki, wipe out a lot of red, and probably anger another god or two. And probably lose the respect of these others. Clint nodded at Stark that he'd heard and then turned to follow the others heading towards the tower. Stopping only long enough to retrieve an arrow, Clint made up his mind in silence.

"Hope you don't mind the rough ride. We'll see you at the top. Ready Barton?" Tony didn't think that Barton would take kindly to teasing at this moment. He could also tell that the man was exhausted, so he took extra care in setting them both down on the top level. Tony motioned for the archer to precede him just as Thor arrived with Captain America closely followed by the Hulk. Watching the agent walk in front of him, Tony realized that some of the exhaustion was injury. The man was limping heavily plus he had small cuts all over the back of his triceps. He didn't think Barton was feeling those yet and who knew what injuries were hidden under his vest.

It was obvious what Barton's goal was. The green and gold clad Loki was visible through the remaining glass windows practically buried in the concrete floor. Must have been the Hulk. Tony really was curious how the archer would choose. Stark considered Coulson a friend, sort of, and that demi-god had killed him. It was all right with Stark if Loki never made it out of here alive. Considering that Barton was a sniper and a master assassin, it was obvious he had no qualms about killing for the greater good.

The door to a stairwell opened and Natasha and Selvig emerged. Romanov was carrying the scepter. The team formed a loose semicircle around the reviving Loki behind Barton. All understood to some degree that Barton had to confront Loki. To not give him this chance would destroy the man. Thor stepped forward as Barton nocked another arrow. He understood that his brother had deeply wronged this mortal, but he would not countenance murder. "I cannot let him kill Loki. His punishment is for my people to decide."

Stark stopped him. "He needs to do this. Your brother stole this man's will. He will be useless to himself and the team if you take this from him. He doesn't seem like a stupid man." Stark still had no idea which way Barton would choose. A glance at Natasha gave him no clue. She would support Barton no matter what.

From the other side of the room, Natasha watched her partner pace towards the recovering demi-god. She knew what she would do but Clint wasn't Russian. Nevertheless, she stepped to her partner's left hand side ready if he asked. She was aware of the others forming a semicircle to her right.

As the waking Loki crawled his way up the stairs, he felt or heard some menace behind him. He turned and looked right into the eyes of a killer. This was the man he'd taken over, removed his free will, forced him to act without any choice. This man would want his revenge. Loki knew a lot about revenge. He looked at the arrow aimed at his throat. He could see his brother to his left. Thor did not look close enough to stop Barton if he fired. "I'd like that drink now." He hoped one of the others would step in and stop the archer. He didn't dare glance at Romanov for he knew what he'd find. He knew the depth of feeling between the two agents. Knew they were two halves of the same whole. Knew that they worked in unison of purpose. He would get no quarter from her. Not after what he'd done to Barton. Having played around inside Barton's head, Loki knew exactly what the assassin was capable of both physically and mentally. Loki swallowed realizing none of the others facing him were saying anything in his favor, not stepping forward to stop Barton. He looked Barton in the eyes and saw his own death.

Natasha was also watching Clint closely. She saw the flexing of shoulder muscles and then the subtle relaxing of them. He'd made his choice. Loki would live. Or at least he would not die by Clint's hand. Not today.

Planning to kill Loki, Clint stopped himself. The fear he'd seen in the demi-god's eyes did a lot towards making him stand down. Clint stood and limped to one side. He was aware of Thor stepping over to his brother. The sound of conversation eddied around Clint; he was just trying to stay on his feet at that point. He closed his eyes and let the sounds wash over him. They were talking about restraints and a gag of all things. He guessed they were as tired of Loki's monologues as he was. Air pressure warned him that someone was near; the sound of a certain step told him it was Natasha. She leaned against the couch he was leaning against and gave him what strength she could. The only two _normal_ humans waited side by side.

Schwarma? Seriously? That's what Stark wanted? At first Clint was really pissed off. They needed to contact SHIELD and learn what new orders Fury had for them. There would be a lot of cleaning up to do. Clint sighed.

"Food!" Tony looked at the archer's gray face. "When was the last time you ate anything? We're all exhausted, my friend, but you, you look terrible."

Pushing against the couch's back and standing straight, he almost fell backward again. He'd stiffened up tremendously. Clint noticed that Loki was no longer in the room. Thor, stepping back into the living room through a doorway, was saying something to the darkness behind him. Banner was back and wearing clothes that fit him poorly. He was a bit shorter than Stark.

Natasha slipped a hand under Clint's arm and guided him towards the elevator. The others instinctively knew the man would accept help from no other.

From the side of the room where he stood, Thor observed Barton. The first time he'd seen the man was on the battlefield. He had acquitted himself well. He was a good warrior. And this was the man his brother had wronged greatly as well. Selvig seemed to have regained himself easily but not Barton. Thor had expected Barton to kill his brother. Only knowing that Stark was better at reading humans had kept him from interfering with Barton's choice. The archer had not backed down due to cowardice; of that, Thor was certain. Instead, it was the faith that punishment would be meted out and that it would be righteous. He had the heart of a warrior. Thor was impressed.

So was Steve Rogers for that matter. He had known that Barton and Selvig had been taken over, becoming Loki's personal flying monkeys, but the skill that the archer had shown in the attack on the helicarrier impressed the hell out of him. It was obvious that this man was no ordinary agent, not _just_ an assassin. He hoped that Fury would continue to allow his two agents to serve as members of the Avengers. They'd earned their places today.

The elevator pinged and several SHIELD agents exited. Thor led them to the room where his brother was.

"Guard," said Tony to the group. "We need sustenance." The Avengers entered the elevator together and headed down.

The proprietor of the schwarma place almost screamed when the six people stepped into his shop. All but one was dressed oddly but they didn't look like those things that had destroyed the street outside his store. As a matter of fact, they looked like the ones leading the cops in fighting off those things. The platinum card that the man wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt waved in front of his face soothed any objections that he had.

Looking at the menu, Tony said, "Give me six, no make that seven number ones." He figured that Thor would eat a lot. He turned to see if that was okay with the others but realized they were ignoring him. He watched Banner sit down, and the rest gathered around the same table. Natasha waited for Clint to sit. She tapped her chair back and lifted an eyebrow. Understanding her shorthand, Clint slowly lifted his leg onto her chair and settled back. She sat on the front edge of her chair; he'd left her plenty of room, and she leaned her head against her arm supported by the table.

"I'll take a Coke now." Tony walked over to Clint and handed him the soda. "Sugar," he said. You need to get some energy, or we'll be carrying you out of here."

His hands shaking, Clint began to sip the soda. The coolness helped his smoke-roughened throat. Stark was right. He was going into shock. The strain on his body was taking its toll. He wasn't superhuman; he was just a soldier with a specific skill set.

He knew he'd pay for the abuse to his body over the past week. Soon he would crash and burn. The smell of the cooked meat that the waitress brought over almost made him throw up. He swallowed the wave of nausea. This always happened when he overextended. The fact that he'd smelled burning flesh this day wasn't helping either.

Thor dug in right away. The others began to eat. Clint dragged his basket into his lap. He picked up some pita bread and dug into the Tabbouleh. He ate that for a few minutes until his hunger returned, so he picked up the pita wrap filled with schwarma. He didn't want to rotate to face the table; it was less painful that way. He could hear Banner snorting or snickering to himself off to his right. He didn't even have the energy to ask him what was so funny.

Rogers was almost asleep at the end. Twice, Natasha spoke to him to see if he was ok. Although superhuman, the man still needed to eat. Focusing her attention back to Clint, Natasha watched as he ate. She was aware of him being too exhausted to eat. Before noticing his nausea, she'd thought he'd bolt his food. He had to be starving. She'd seen him palm a MRE bar when he'd armed himself with his bow and quiver aboard the helicarrier. That hadn't been enough to sustain him if he hadn't eaten since being overtaken. But Clint didn't bolt his food. He had self-control. He always had self-control. That's what made Loki's subsuming his will all the worse. Clint hated to lose control. But he was free. He would heal. She would make sure of that.

Absorbed in their own thoughts, the Avengers finished the first of many meals taken as a team.

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_Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope this story struck a spark with you and I'd love to hear your thoughts. This will be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

**Balancing His Ledger**

_I own nothing related to the Avengers but some nifty collector cards. I'm sorry the update took so long; I've been without internet for the past two weeks. _

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**Chapter 2 – Wounds**

It wasn't a noise that awakened Clint Barton. It was the absolute silence. For the past year he'd been stationed either on the helicarrier with its massive engines constantly running, or he'd been living under the extensive dish array of the Joint Dark Energy Facility guarding the tesseract. He heard the hum of neither one. Eyes snapped open. He saw…a luxurious bedroom. What? Where? His thoughts churned like mush through his head until he began to regain memories of recent events. The pain in his left hip confirmed what he'd come up with. He remembered. Too much.

"Sir?"

"What is it JARVIS?" Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, and Dr. Selvig were sitting in the sunken den. Thor had his head stuck in the refrigerator looking for something else to eat. Steve Rogers had left on some errand of his own. The scientists were brainstorming ways to use the tesseract to take Thor with Loki in tow home to Asgard.

"You wanted to be alerted if Agent Barton developed a.." the AI paused. "...a problem."

"Medical distress?" asked Bruce starting to rise.

"Not exactly sir. He seems to be very upset."

"Wait," said Bruce holding out his hand to stop Natasha as she started to rise. He continued as she glared at him. "I'm betting that now he's a bit rested, he's reacting to what happened to him."

"You think?" queried Tony. "The man escapes one base as it was destroyed by the tesseract and leads an attack on his home base and you think he's reacting to something that happened? Wow. I would have never…"

They never learned the rest of Tony's statement. The glare from those around him actually made him stop talking.

"Let me talk to him," said Natasha. "I'm his partner."

"And the last person he'd listen to right now," finished Bruce.

"What?" Natasha was starting to get angry. These men thought they knew what her partner was having to deal with. That they understood a man like Clint. They had no clue.

The others were confused by Bruce's statement too. No one really knew the archer. None of them had spoken more than ten words with the man except for Dr. Selvig and that didn't count. He'd known Barton before.

Not forgetting the reason they were arguing, Bruce raised his voice, "JARVIS, If it gets…bad, break in. Distract him until I can get there." Turning to his audience of four, Thor having rejoined the group, Bruce explained what he'd internalized about Barton's situation since waking up himself that morning. It was ironic that Barton's and his situations were rather similar. "Barton was taken over by another. We don't know how much, if anything, he knows, but when he was back with us, he learned a bit about what he was responsible for. He learned that his mind was used by Loki ; his specific, personal knowledge of the helicarrier led to the successful invasion of it and extensive damage to it. He learned that he had caused the deaths of fellow agents either directly or indirectly. It's similar to the _other guy_ doing damage, but I am left to deal with the results." He paused to let the others think about what he'd said. "I've talked with Thor about the staff thing too."

The Nordic warrior spoke up, his deep voice reverberating in the rather large room. "The staff contains the Blue Infinity Gem. It allows the user to enter the thoughts of another and subvert them, controlling them absolutely. Clint Barton had no means to fight back nor did Dr. Selvig here."

Dr. Selvig looked abashed. His part in the potential destruction of their world was still a horrible nightmare.

Tony spoke up, "But I think you both fought Loki in your own way."

Confused and wanted to go speak to Clint, Natasha wanted the explanations over. "What do you mean?"

"Let me finish putting my data together; it should help Barton." For once Tony seemed concerned about the archer.

"But…in the meantime, I might be able to help," said Bruce as he headed down the hallway towards the guest rooms.

Clint was face down on the bed. His t-shirt was twisted halfway up his torso where it had been pulled out of the borrowed sweats. His fingers were digging into the mattress while his jaw was clenched to keep any sound from escaping. He was peopling his imagination with faces of coworkers. He hadn't seen any reports yet; Natasha refused to let him. But he knew the ship and knew what people worked in what areas, and he could guess who'd been on duty when the attack had come. His attack. He recorded their deaths in his ledger even though he had no memory of anything since Loki had grabbed his gun and jabbed that staff into his chest. He tallied numbers in his head and groaned again.

A knock at the door interrupted his mental castigation. "Go away, Natasha," he almost begged. He prayed he would see no condemnation in her eyes, but he wasn't ready to face her again quite yet. She'd given him her faith before; he couldn't bear to see it gone.

A male voice spoke on the other side of the door. "It's not Natasha. I thought maybe I could give you some insight…" the voice trailed off.

Clint flipped off the bed and onto his feet at the unfamiliar voice but relaxed when Dr. Banner identified himself. He called, "enter," before sitting back down on the bed facing the door and dropped his head into his hands. Shame was not a new emotion for him, but it had never been this intense.

"Do you mind?" asked Bruce. He shut the door and moved towards the chair against the wall after stepping over Barton's Kevlar vest tangled on the floor with his boots. He spotted the cuts on the back of the man's triceps; it didn't look like they'd been cleaned at all. He'd have to make sure Barton took care of that before he developed an infection. Shaking his head to get himself back on task, he spoke, "Believe it or not, I understand some of what you're going through."

Lifting his face out of his hands, the bleak look Clint gave Bruce firmed his resolve to help the younger man.

"How?" Clint rasped.

Settling back in his chair, Bruce steepled his fingers in front of him and began to explain his recent thoughts. "I've thought about what happened to you since Natasha first explained what was known about your being, what was the word…compromised."

Clint's lips tightened at the word. It implied that he chose to go with Loki.

Not as oblivious as he seemed, Bruce continued. "You mind-your free will—were taken from you. You were not _you_. When the…_the other guy_…takes over, I am not in control. I'm not really aware at all of what is happening. It's when I'm back that I learn what he did." He stopped and his eyes lost focus seeing something from his past.

The doctor's words penetrated Clint's despair. This man did have an understanding of what he was feeling. Of what he was trying, and failing, to explain to Natasha.

Bruce continued, "I can tell you that the _other guy_ has killed colleagues of mine. I am and am not responsible. In fact, I'm more responsible that you because I created _him._ You were taken.

Taken. That didn't sit well with Clint either. It implied that there was some weakness inside him that made him Loki's choice. Weakness that a top agent of SHIELD should not have. Dr. Selvig was a civilian. It was different for him.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you?" Bruce was really worried about the younger man. He would not have been one of Fury's top agents unless he was extremely competent and from what he'd been told by Rogers about the battle, the man was scary good. He'd gone directly from recovering his sense of self, his will, to joining the battle against the Chitari and had made a difference in the outcome. He was formidable. That didn't even cover the fact that he'd led a very small force aboard the helicarrier and nearly taken it down without any help from Loki. Of course, best not to remind him of that.

"I…I'll think about what you said," promised Clint. It was the best he could offer at the time.

Standing up, Bruce extended a hand and pulled the agent to his feet. "Why don't you get cleaned up? I'll see if Tony has any food that Thor has not eaten yet and maybe some clothes too. You're both about the same size though you're broader across the chest. When Bruce stepped outside into the hallway, Natasha was standing there. He jumped back. She handed him a stack of clothes, turned on her heel, and walked away. With a bemused smile on his face, Bruce went back into the bedroom and laid the clothes on the bed. He shut the door behind him and rejoined the others. Rogers was back; he was sitting on the couch talking softly to Natasha.

"He's thinking again, not merely reacting but it'll take some time before he believes it. Tony?"

"Yeah?" Tony was standing at his workstation. It had survived the battle. While Bruce had been talking to Barton, he'd been calling up file after video file. His new little crawlers were still active on the helicarrier.

"Could we scrounge up some food?" Bruce asked.

Thor perked up. Rogers shook his head. Where the man..no demi-god…stuffed all that food away was beyond him.

Distracted, Tony said, "JARVIS. Open the larder."

The team stood and started digging for personal favorites. By the time a damp-haired Clint joined them, the counter was covered with various ingredients for sandwiches and soup was starting to heat on the stove.

Natasha felt an almost audible click as Clint stepped to her side. They were two parts of a whole, and she didn't feel completely balanced unless he was there. They both had plenty of solo missions, but there was always that gap. After that first mission together, they both discovered that they worked better as a team. Individually, each was very good; together, they were almost unbeatable against mere mortals.

Holding her eye, Clint snagged the peanut butter from under her hand as she started to dig the knife into the jar. Smirking, he dug with a knife of his own, scooped out a big gob, and slathered it on a piece of bread. With a mock growl, Natasha stalked off with the reclaimed jar to the end of the kitchen island.

Plates were filled with a variety of sandwiches, chips, and raw vegetables before everyone moved back towards the sunken den except for Clint. With a jerk of his head, he told Natasha where he wanted to eat and with a shake of it, that he wanted a moment alone. He took his plate out towards the gap in the wall of windows. Balancing the plate in one hand, Clint watched the city skyline as he began to eat. Following Natasha's cue, the others left the man alone.

When Thor noticed that Clint hadn't joined them, he watched the agent. Once Clint set his plate down, Thor, who had already inhaled his meal, joined him at the wall. "I will speak with you," was all he said as with a gesture, he indicated that Clint should precede him out onto the balcony. Thor set Mjolnir down on the balcony and challenged Clint. "Do you know what this is?"

"I remember it from New Mexico."

"You were there?" Thor didn't remember Clint's face from the many who'd fought him. This man would surely have been one of those sent into combat.

"Coulson…" Clint had to stop. "Agent Coulson had me cover you from above with orders to kill if it became necessary. I didn't have to."

Thor flushed. The memory of that failure still shamed him. "Where were you? I do not remember you on the parapet around the hammer."

Clint had to think about what Thor was referring to. Nodding when he realized Thor was talking about the scaffolding, he responded, "I was in a.." he had to think of something Thor would understand, "a box hanging from a tower in the sky."

Thor nodded slightly. He'd never known the man was there. Truly this was a warrior worthy of his respect. Returning to his original topic he said, "So you know a bit about me." Gesturing, he continued, "Pick Mjolnir up."

Clint sighed and looked at the demi-god. Why were these brothers making his life so miserable? "I can't."

"Try."

Setting his jaw, Clint crouched down, grasped the hammer with both hands, and attempted to lift it. It was as though the hammer was welded to the floor. Interesting. Shifting his grip, he tried again but no luck. Standing, he faced Thor, "You satisfied?"

"Do you know what this is exactly?"

"Nope." Clint had no idea where this was going, and he really didn't care. He had his own thoughts that he wanted to be alone with.

From inside the room, Natasha was curious. Tony and Bruce knew where Thor was going as they had worked together to marshal an argument to convince their teammate that he was not at fault.

"It was made by the gods to call lightning." Thor picked it up as easily as a feather and raised it towards the sky in one graceful movement. The clouds darkened and lightning flashed down to run along the hammer. Clint backed away from the flickering energy.

Inside, Tony hoped his penthouse was not about to be damaged any further. "You know if you damage anything here, I'll sick the Hulk on you. We just got the last of the broken bits swept up." he called out. Bruce whipped his head around to call Tony on the threat and got a wry grin and shoulder lift that assured him that Tony wouldn't go through with it. Or would he? You never knew with Stark.

"Fair enough," called Thor. "However, I would relish a rematch with the green being." He released the lightning from his control. It gave him such a heady rush to control it once again. A rush tempered by the memory of being unable to call it. Turning to Clint he asked, "Could you fight the lightning?"

"No!" Clint exclaimed. It made him cold to think about being hit by such a bolt.

"Then why, as a mere mortal, do you feel you could resist Loki's staff? The Blue Infinity Gem's main purpose is to subvert the will of another." Thor crossed his arms across his chest and waited for an answer from the assassin.

Clint opened his mouth and then closed it. He was stumped. He started to speak several times but couldn't get his thoughts together. He felt that Loki had exploited some weakness inside him that he hadn't known existed.

"You had no more chance against his staff that you would against my lightning bolts. Furthermore, Loki chose to take you rather than kill you. He killed others did he not?" At Clint's nod he continued, "My brother feels a need to subjugate those stronger and fiercer than himself. I blame myself for that. He had no idea of the depth of your knowledge. He just took his strongest opponent first and then went after Dr. Selvig and the other agent."

Tony, who'd moved up behind the two men, spoke up. Clint didn't start as he'd seen the movement out of the corner of his eye. Getting the agent's attention, Tony cocked his head to indicate that Clint should follow him. At the counter, Tony called up his display with two video screens. The first showed Dr. Selvig on top of his tower. "Look at him very carefully," Tony instructed.

Dutifully, Clint examined the doctor's face on the screen. He noticed the eyes, always blue, now a glowy blue. He also had an expression on his face of what Clint could only call joy as he worked on the machine.

"Conclusion?" Tony asked and then didn't wait for an answer. "Dr. Selvig wanted the doorway opened. It was what he'd been working on. Loki gave him exactly what he wanted. Yes, he put in a back door but wouldn't he have done that anyways?" Looking at the frozen video again, Clint felt forced to agree with Tony. "What's the point?" even though he had a suspicion of where Stark would go next. And he did.

Touching a point on the second screen, Tony called up an image of Clint from the helicarrier. Tony's virus had created a back door into SHIELD's system, so even though Fury's techs had shut down his original virus, he still had access. He opened the file he'd taken from the security cameras. Turning to Clint, Tony ordered, "Look."

Clint obeyed. His normally grey blue eyes were a vivid glowy blue. He widened his focus. He looked like shit. His lips were almost grey, and he had dark circles around his eyes.

"Do you _see_?" asked Tony.

"You mean how I look like crap?" Clint shifted his gaze back and forth between the image of Dr. Selvig and himself. "What's your point?"

"We have a theory," Tony said as he turned to include Bruce who'd joined the two men. "You were resisting. Some way, somehow, you were trying to break Loki's control. You didn't want to do what Loki was making you do. You were fighting, but you were fighting a demi-god and his weapon. Cut yourself some slack. Yes, people died. Yes, you led the invasion of the helicarrier. But it wasn't really _you_. Let me show you one final thing." Tony called up a file he'd clipped and saved. He hoped that Natasha wouldn't kill him for this but it was for Clint. The screen showed Natasha confronting Loki. He started the clip. _'I won't touch Barton, not 'til I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear and then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work and when he screams I'll split his skull.' _He stopped the video and fussed with the screen to give Clint a chance to absorb Loki's words to his partner_. _Clint clenched his hands into fists to contain his rage at Loki. He should have shot him. Tony continued when he saw that Clint had himself under control again,_ "_Loki himself said you were **unaware** of everything you were doing. I showed all this data to Director Fury, and he concurs. He also pointed out that an agent of your talents would not have shot him in the chest; you would have gone for the headshot. Loki would not have known that Fury wore a Kevlar vest so he directed you to aim there. You were compromised, but you are not culpable." Fury had thanked Stark for his work and then threatened him against ever invading his systems again. It was a threat Stark ignored.

Looking back and forth between the faces of two of the smartest men in the world, Clint wanted desperately to believe them.

"Believe them," said Thor as he clasped the agent on his left shoulder. Bruce gestured for the other Avengers to leave the archer alone to digest what they'd told him. Clint wandered back to the wall of glass. He stared at his own reflection which was barely visible in the remaining glass.

When Bruce sat down on the couch, Natasha asked in a low undertone, "Now?" She had heard Loki's voice and realized what Stark showed Clint. She hoped it would help. She'd clutched her arms against her body as his voice had filled the room. The feelings that interview stirred up still shook her. But her partner needed her. She would see him through this dark time, help him battle the demons that would arise in the night. She stood and went to him.

Clint felt Natasha move up beside him on his right side. A silent presence. Clint appreciated her steadfast support especially since he'd tried to kill her. And especially now that he knew that Loki had threatened her with him. Natasha did not forgive. She was Russian. She got even. Her faith in him meant more than he could say. Together they watched the sun begin to set.

Tomorrow would bring new troubles; it was time Clint buried these current ones with all the others from his past. They would revisit him in the darkest hours of the night, but he would not allow them to stop him from doing his job now. As an agent of SHIELD and as an Avenger.

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_I hope you liked this chapter; I appreciate constructive criticism._


	3. Chapter 3

**Balancing His Ledger**

_I do not own any rights to the characters of the Avengers and gain nothing but the satisfaction of telling a new story. I feel seeing Captain America is fitting on this American holiday-Happy 4th of July to all who live within these United States._

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**Chapter 3 – Amends**

In full red, white, and blue regalia, Captain America came over to talk to the crew chief. He'd decided to walk the streets of Manhattan to see how the clean-up after the Chitari invasion was going. It was going slow.

A series of questions had finally led to a worker who had pointed out Engineer Barnes. Approaching Barnes, Steve Rogers held out his hand to shake. The engineer's brawny forearm was covered in a heavy bandage. They exchanged a few pleasantries before Steve asked, "So how are things going with the cleanup?"

"It's slow. I've got enough backs to load the dumpsters, but I'm short on pilots."

"Pilots?" Steve was confused.

"The roads are still too messed up. We can't truck out the dumpsters. We're using cargo copters to lift them to the dumpsite. We need someone who can pilot at night between these buildings. If I had that, we'd be able to clear out faster and get this section back on its feet. I don't suppose…." Barnes' words trailed off. Here was one of the Avengers who had basically halted an alien invasion, and he had the gall to ask for more help. He must be more tired than he realized. "I'm sorry. You've done enough."

"That's why I came down here. I wanted to see what else needed to be done. I would have thought the military would be on this."

"As far as I can tell, Captain, all the available military are dealing with the buildings. The engineers are trying to see which ones need to come down and which ones can be repaired and everyone else is looking for survivors or victims."

"I'll see what I can do." Steve wondered if Fury could help out at all. Discreetly. Changing the topic, he asked, "How did you hurt your arm? I thought this area was cleared of falling debris."

"It was. This" and Barnes raised his bandaged arm, "was from looters."

Steve Rogers was disappointed in his fellow human being. With all the death and destruction around them, some people still had to take what they'd not earned. "So how did you fight them off?"

"I didn't. It was that cop Walsh. Our shift was walking back to the motor pool to go to our barracks when we were jumped. Kid's not much of a joiner, keeps to himself, but he was right behind us. There were about ten of them with knives and clubs and chains. They attacked us at the end of a hard day. My guys are big guys, but we had no energy. It looked like it was going to get really ugly. I'd blocked a knife blow with my arm, or it would have hit me in the chest then this kid came out of nowhere. To tell you the truth, I think he was military before he was a cop. The way he took out those guys….man, it was beautiful. The really scary thing though was that they never touched him." Barnes shook his head with admiration.

"Walsh? Did you know him before now?"

"No. He showed up on our crew. He's a hard worker, but like I said, he keeps to himself."

"Where is he? I'd like to meet this man." Steve wondered if he was one of Fury's men sent to keep an eye out for alien tech.

Barnes stepped out into the middle of the street and slowly rotated around. Finally he spotted the man. "Over there."

Steve followed the pointing finger and saw a man in a dust cloud. He's apparently just dropped a load into the bucket of a bulldozer. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to see more clearly. Rogers took a few steps towards the man.

"Hey Walsh!" Barnes yelled. "Someone to meet you!" He hoped the kid wouldn't be overawed by Captain America. He'd seen out of the corner of his eye how the other workers were trying to speed up their work as an effort to impress the superhero. They'd pay for it tonight with sore muscles.

Both men watched as Walsh straightened and leaned on his shovel as he turned towards them. He spotted Captain America.

Walsh took a deep breath and looked briefly at the sky. Busted. He walked towards Rogers and held out his hand.

Only the warning in Barton's eye kept Steve from using his real name. On Roger's side, he'd known covert agents in _his_ time and the SHIELD agents in this new time. For whatever reason, Clint Barton didn't want these people to know his real name or his affiliations.

"Walsh." Rogers said shaking his hand. "I heard you took down some looters. Good job. Why don't we go over there and talk about solutions to that problem and maybe how we can protect the workers." Steve pointed to the entrance to a deserted building that had both shade and solitude so no one could hear their conversation.

As the two men moved away, Barnes fought the suspicion that the two men knew each other. If that was so, that explained how the kid had beaten up those looters. What it didn't explain was why he was on his crew. He turned back and yelled at the others, "Come on, we've got 86 minutes to go. Let's move it!" He looked up as another cargo copter came into view. Time to hook it up to the dumpster.

The two Avengers stood for a moment looking at each other. Clint was a master at waiting so it was Steve who broke the silence.

"What are you doing here? Fury said you were on medical leave and couldn't be reached. If you're injured and still…"

Clint was glad it was Rogers he was dealing with. If it had been Stark, he probably would have walked away without answering at all. It wasn't like that man couldn't have ferreted out the truth on his own.

"I'm not….injured. Not exactly." Clint sucked in his lower lip and squeezed both lips together. It was a sure sign that he was agitated. Steve had seen that expression before. He was itching to get Clint into a card game to see if the tell translated there. The man was a sniper and an assassin not a spy.

Not realizing he'd given himself away, Clint thought about his options. He could tell the truth or a partial truth or a lie. Rogers had always been straight with him, however, and he could be trusted. Clint had seen how the man had taken responsibility of the team to heart even after the battle was over. His choice made, Clint spoke. "Right now SHIELD is focusing on two things. Repairing the helicarrier and digging out the Dark Matter base." Taking a breath, he paused and looked Steve straight in the eyes. "SHIELD psychs won't clear me for either site." He swallowed heavily. "Hence, medical leave."

Steve felt for the man. The pain he saw in those blue-grey eyes had not lessened over the past few weeks. He himself had chewed out Stark for not being a real hero and taking things seriously. Here was a man who took too much on himself. He was probably eating himself up as he worked. Time to step in.

"Are you here to be a martyr or do you really want to do some good?"

Taken aback by the accusation, Clint spat out, "Do the most good."

"Then why don't you use your skills where they'll do the most good?"

"What!" Angry now, Clint snarled. "You want me to get on top of a building and shoot the looters?" Clint thought Rogers understood him better than that. His hands started to form into fists but he took a step back and forced himself to relax. There was no way he was going to attack Captain America in front of all these witnesses.

"Huh?" Frustrated that he hadn't made himself more clear from the start, Steve spoke again. "You're a pilot. A good one. Barnes was just asking me if I knew anyone who could pilot a chopper at night between these buildings. You're wasted just being a grunt."

Deflating completely now that he understood where Rogers' was coming from, Clint put both hands on his hips and looked down. Once he'd gotten himself completely under control, he looked up. A half smile quirked his lips. "_Walsh_" emphasizing his persona, "doesn't have a pilot's license." He snorted and rolled his eyes and turned his head to the side. "And neither do I for that matter."

"What? But you…I thought…Wait a minute…then why did…" Unable to finish a single sentence, Steve just looked at Clint. He'd flown in the jet with Barton; the man's skill in getting them safely on the ground after being shot by Loki proved the agent was a very capable pilot.

Taking pity on the man, Clint explained. "I'm definitely certified for jets and copters it's just that no one recognizes SHIELD certification. And the ones that do aren't here on site." He shrugged his shoulders.

Understanding the problem Steve asked, "So if I make it right, are you willing to help out as a pilot?"

"Sure but there's one other thing. I might be recalled at any moment. Natasha's getting intel that they may need me to act on. When Fury calls, I'm outta here. And that would leave them in a bind. Hauling debris by hand makes it easier for me to clear out quickly."

"Let me handle that. Come on." Steve led Barton back to where Barnes was barking orders. "I solved one of your problems, sir." At Barnes' lifted eyebrow, Steve continued. "Walsh here is qualified to pilot a copter. His certification is … not readily accessible."

Barnes wasn't an idiot. He'd had his suspicions about Walsh since last night and now that Captain America was vouching for him it made him even more curious.

Rogers continued. "He's on detached duty right now and might have to leave in a hurry, so I don't know how long he can do night runs."

Barnes looked at Walsh. "Detached duty huh? You're not really a cop are you?"

Clint looked back with a bland expression before tilting his head to one side. He spoke, "I can pilot a copter while I can stay here helping. Or I can go back to throwing stuff in dumpsters. Whatever you decide."

"Before I say yes, I want to see what you can do. No offense, Captain, but I need to make up my own mind."

"None taken. You mind if I ride along? I want to see how things are from the air and unlike Stark, I can't fly"

"Sure. We'll go to the refueling zone." Raising his radio, Barnes contacted the refueling station to tell them to hold the next copter that came down.

The three men walked in silence to the site where Barnes told the pilot to take a break since he was checking out a new pilot. The three got on board with Barnes sitting in the copilot seat. He watched as Walsh ran a pre-check and then started the ignition process. With smooth efficiency, the copter lifted and headed back to where they had been working. Walsh threaded the copter easily down the streets and brought it to a low hover so the workers could hook up the chains to the four corners of a dumpster. The copter rose much slower than before with its heavy load and carefully made its way to the dumpsite.

"How do we dump this thing?" Barton asked.

"You have to land it, so they can empty it."

Shaking his head at the inefficiency, Clint started figuring out a way to streamline the process. "Where to now?"

"Back to the fuel depot. Let them finish their shift. I want you down for a full shift so don't come back until dusk tomorrow. You've worked a long day already what with the fight yesterday and all."

Knowing there was no way Natasha had found out what SHIELD needed to know yet for his mission, Clint wasn't going to argue. That would give him time to implement his idea. "Do you have a copter with a winch at the side door?" he asked Barnes. At the man's affirmative after checking his clipboard Clint said, "Assign me that one."

At the fuel dump, they got into a transport that took them back to their original work site. Once there, Barnes shook Rogers' hand. "You do work fast," he said. "What else should I ask for?" he joked. Turning to Walsh, he said, "Your name isn't really Walsh either is it?" He knew he wasn't going to get an answer, but he had to say it.

Clint just looked at Barnes. He respected the crew chief. The man asked nothing of his crew that he wasn't willing to do himself, and he was fair. Giving Barnes enough time to know he'd been heard but not ignored, Clint said, "I'll see you around, chief."

Clint joined Steve as he was walking to the motor pool. Steve's Harley gleamed in the shadows. He wondered how Clint was planning on getting back to wherever it was he slept. He didn't have to wait long. Barton was pushing a red and white dirt bike towards him. "I'll see you later, Captain. I've got to find some things."

"Where are you staying?"

"Temporary barracks." Noticing the look on Rogers' face, he continued, "What? I've spent most of my life in barracks or quarters or places I don't think you want to think about."

"Come on back to Stark Tower. Hot shower, and I'm sure the food is better."

Torn, Clint paused. Going back between shifts meant that many of the men would be up and moving around. He doubted he'd get enough sleep. He really couldn't sleep when others were moving around him. A side effect of being an assassin. "I've got to do something first, and then I'll be there. Just know that I really have to get some sleep. Keep Stark off my back will you?"

Happy that Barton actually listened to him, Steve promised. Stark had put his tower at their disposal. He and Pepper were redesigning the top floors for the Avengers. Every one of the six members was getting their own suite. Of course, Tony's was the biggest and the best, but he wasn't skimping on the others'. Pepper was working with them to design what they wanted. Thor and Barton were the only ones she hadn't had a chance to talk with. Natasha had given clues about what Clint would want but Pepper felt it would not be his unless he had the final say. Starting his engine, Steve headed back to the team's home confident that his teammate would show up. Barton's word was good.

Clint came back to the work site carrying a portable welder, gloves, and googles. Choosing an almost empty dumpster, he set down the welder and took out an U bolt from his pocket along with a bracket. Each dumpster had a hook welded at each corner but Clint wanted to add one to the side. Adjusting the welder's goggles so they fit perfectly, Clint activated the arc welder. With tongs he held the bolt's screw in place until it held. He turned off the welder and waited to give the weld time to set. Once the cherry red color was gone, Clint grabbed a rebar pole from the ground and hit the bolt as hard as he could. He struck several more times until he was certain it would hold. Satisfied, he packed the gear back into the duffle and picked up the welder. He walked over to the crew chief and told him to fill the dumpster but hold it until he arrived with his copter during the night shift. He explained that he was testing a way to speed up the process. He left the bag at the workshop, got on his bike, and headed towards Stark Tower.

Steve looked up from his book and looked around the room. The book was from a list that Agent Hill had found in Agent Coulson's files. The deceased agent had compiled a list of texts he'd chosen to acclimate him to the 21st century quickly. Steve regretted not getting to know the man better. Leaning back against the couch, he surreptitiously observed the others. Tony and Bruce were standing at a work station. Several displays showed charts and diagrams and models of things he had no clue about. Their conversation, while in English, did not give him any further clues as to what exactly it was that they were working on. Pepper and Clint were at another table talking about his suite.

Pepper was taking notes about what Clint was saying he needed, but she was really trying to learn more about the man. He was an enigma, and she needed to understand this agent who had worked with Phil for so long. Phil had never divulged SHIELD business but sometimes he'd vented about an agent he had had to handle. Mostly it was about how the man worked until he dropped. How he became so focused on a job that he forgot those around him. How only another agent was able to get him to open up and vent when something went wrong. Only once had Phil said the man's name, Barton. It was after a mission had gone south, and they'd had to send in another unit after him. Barton had been in medical almost a month recovering. Phil felt horrible that the intel he had helped gather had been wrong and that it almost cost the man his life. Only the agent's tremendous athletic ability and skills had saved his life. And here was that same man sitting across from her.

As the only two women in the group, Pepper had sort of bonded with Natasha. They had gotten to know each other back when Natasha had been tasked to shadow Tony. It had become obvious to Pepper that the two SHIELD agents were close. Natasha's frustration with Clint's determination to assign guilt to himself after being possessed by Loki had come out in several late night conversations. Although the others' arguments had been strong, Clint still held on to his guilt. Now Pepper wanted to evaluate the man herself. She considered herself an expert at reading men since Tony was so complicated. She could never forget his begging for her help to stop Obadiah and that there was always "the next mission." He had lost some of that intensity lately, but with Phil's murder it was back. Everything was _Avengers this_ and _Avengers that_. She considered it her job to keep him human. She felt that was what Natasha was trying to do with Clint. It was ironic since Natasha herself was intensely mission-focused. Natasha was the most normal one of the group in more ways than one. They were all broken; she just openly admitted it. Hopefully the team would be able to glue the archer back together. As a sniper, Clint did not make a good team member. He was a distant observer who would have to learn to work with the rest of the team, not just Natasha.

Natasha had confided that Clint was uncomfortable on the helicarrier. Other agents gave him wide berth or downright hostility. He didn't ask for a transfer because he felt he deserved their recrimination. That was why Natasha had offered to help design Clint's suite. The sooner she got him out of that poisonous atmosphere the better. But Natasha was gone; she had left on a mission that Pepper knew was important but that was all. Natasha had asked the others to keep an eye on Clint, but that proved difficult when he vanished. Trust Steve to be able to find him.

"Ok," she said. "We've determined that your room needs soundproofing, a rack for your bow and arrows, and room darkening curtains. What else?"

"Ma'am," Clint began only to be stopped by an upraised finger. Smiling, he continued, "Pepper, it really doesn't matter. I've never really had a place of my own so…"

"So that is why I want you to tell me what you want. Look Clint, this is a chance for you to choose something, not have SHIELD issue it to you. And if you say grey I'm going to sic Tony on you."

Knowing it wasn't an idle threat, Clint leaned back against the couch to really think about what Pepper was offering him.

Pepper took the opportunity to observe the man. She could see the sadness lurking in his eyes that Bruce had mentioned. Bruce was the only one of them who really understood what it meant to lose control of oneself. The archer's strong jaw was outlined by the firelight. The hands clasped around his knee were covered with tiny scars layered one on top of another. He looked like a hardened warrior and a lost little boy at the same time. Pepper prayed that he could work himself out of the despair he was struggling against.

Aware Pepper was observing him, Clint tuned her out. What _did_ he want? He went back to his earliest memories when he was five, before his time in the orphanage and then the circus and then with SHIELD. What did he like? He didn't realize the panic that was starting to appear on his face. His eyes shifted back and forth, and he searched his memories to come up with something that he liked. Something that made him happy. Something…

His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand on his knee. "Clint," said Pepper. "We don't have to plan this all at once. We can add things in later. How about a neutral shade on the walls so you can add whatever color you want with paintings or whatever? I think a wooden floor will add warmth to the room without making it too impersonal. I'm thinking oak. Oak bed and dresser. Do you have a favorite color?"

Able to answer that question, Clint relaxed a bit more. "Deep blue. A sapphire that's not in the sun. And I do like grey," he added, "but a silvery grey, not gunmetal."

Squinting her eyes at the assassin, she realized he was serious. With his eyes and coloring, blue and grey would complement him. She would have JARVIS determine Clint's size and have a suit made for him. Silver suit, silver tie, deep blue shirt. He might need a suit sometime.

"Anything else? I really need to get some sleep before going in to work."

"I've got enough to get started but you must promise me that if you think of something else for your suite you let me know."

A memory popped up. "A beanbag," he said tentatively. He remembered scooting down in a beanbag with a dog…a bulldog...as a child. The memory startled him; he'd forgotten about his dog until just now. Certain now, he restated, "A beanbag chair."

"All right. I'll look for one."

Standing up, Clint smiled down at Pepper. "Thanks," he said and meant it. He turned and walked towards the room that had been assigned him. He was happy with it; it was quiet and clean. But it wasn't what the team would be living in. It was guest quarters. Whatever.

Several pairs of eyes followed Barton as he left the room. He seemed to be coping better than he had right after the battle. Maybe Thor, Tony, and Bruce's words about Loki and his tesseract powered staff had helped. But Bruce wasn't quite so sure. Steve had told him where and how he'd found Barton. Working day after day on the streets trying to get rid of debris was a form of penance. Bruce knew from bitter experience that Barton would not let go of his guilt that easily. Barton was no less disciplined, no less a man than Bruce. The fact that his skills and his knowledge gave Loki the entrance to the helicarrier and led to the death of Coulson and others must still be eating at the man. He resolved again to keep a closer eye; he would enlist JARVIS as well to keep an eye on the younger man.

When Clint arrived with the copter the next morning, he had his copilot drop the cable on the side winch and radioed that they were to attach it to the hook on the side. Upon arriving at the dump site, Clint had the copilot raise the winch. The dumpster below began to tilt and the debris fell out onto the pile. The men below cheered. They still had to even out the pile but they wouldn't have to empty the whole thing first. The amount of time saved would really help. The ground crew chief gave orders that hooks were to be welded onto all the dumpsters. He radioed the flight crew chief to see how many copters had side winches. He told about what Walsh had done and how it would speed things up immensely.

Clint felt satisfaction for the first time since the night after the battle. He still had a full shift but he knew the clean up would speed up allowing people to return to their lives. When he finished his first run, he was actually smiling.

The work continued.

Clint felt the vibration of the phone in his pocket. Natasha must be back. Pulling the small phone out of his pocket he read, "Return to base." Since it didn't say urgent, Clint knew he could finish a few more trips before leaving now that all the dumpsters had hooks.

Landing the helicopter for the last time as the sun was filling the city streets, Clint collected his dirt bike and drove back to his original assignment to find Barnes who was just arriving for his day shift. He waited while the man gave orders to some others before approaching.

"I've been recalled." Clint said. "I've got to go."

Barnes had known this would happen, and he was prepared. Holding out his hand, he shook the other's. "Thanks for all you've done. Those U bolts welded on the side of the dumpster have made a big difference." He paused before continuing. "Captain America found us a few other pilots. I got word that they're coming in tonight."

Clint smiled. Trust Steve or maybe even Fury to find replacements for him.

"Will we see you again, Walsh?" Barnes was pretty sure of what the answer would be but he asked just the same.

"I doubt it. This job might take months. You're a good chief. Thank you for trusting me and letting me help." Clint gave the man's hand one final shake, nodded, and turned away.

Barnes heard the man's motorcycle roar to life and slowly fade. What he wouldn't give to find out who he really was. But that wasn't his business. His business was bringing the city back to life so he turned to it.

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_I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know if you did._


	4. Chapter 4

**Balancing His Ledger**

_I do not own any rights to the characters of the Avengers. Thank you so much for the kind reviews; they mean a lot to me._

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**Chapter Four – Lessons Learned**

Agent Barton leaned his head back against the transport's bulkhead. His right hand cradled an iPad while his left was squeezing therapy putty to strengthen already strong fingers. He put down the putty to rub at weary eyes. God, he was exhausted. Normally, Clint was able to sleep anywhere or anytime. Not this trip. There was something—off—with the C-130's engine. Some vibration or tone was setting his teeth on edge. While Clint was only human, he'd honed his senses to their uppermost limit. Being hyper aware of what was around him had saved his life more than once. Unfortunately, he couldn't turn off his senses.

The plane had been in the air for over 12 hours now returning to Ft. Drum from Bagdad. In the seats surrounding Clint, EOD soldiers from Delta Company whose tour was up dozed. Soldiers accompanied them from the 902 Military Intelligence Unit as well. Clint had been sent by Director Fury to Bagdad to learn as quickly as he could how to disarm as many types of bombs as possible. Normally, EOD techs were trained at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. But SHIELD had been on a time crunch thus he went directly to the front lines. At first, Clint thought he was being sent into exile even though he'd been pulled from medical leave to go there. But once there he realized how important the training might become. If he stayed with the Avengers, he would go into more battles. As a sniper and assassin, his prior work had been more covert. Stark did know bombs, after all he'd designed many, but the Iron Man was more efficient in the air. Hawkeye who worked best by himself might be tasked to disarm different ordinance. It was the most efficient solution to certain scenarios.

It had been a grueling and draining time. He'd spent the past 38 days of Delta Company's rotation learning everything that he could learn. The heat alone was destructive but coupled with the added stress of learning how to disarm live bombs, he was a wreck. However, Delta's colonel had pronounced him competent, so it was worth it. Colonel Cooper, who was still in Bagdad bringing Alpha Company up to speed, wasn't sure why Barton had been added to Delta; the man had no unit insignia on his uniform. But his superiors had informed him that he was to give this man all the aid he needed in accomplishing his goal. Fury's orders, sent directly to Barton, were to return to New York with the unit at the end of their rotation before heading out to his new assignment. The assignment that Natasha was apparently setting up for him.

Clint looked down reflexively at his left foot. He felt naked without his bow case but he had had strict orders to leave it behind. His cover did not allow for such things. He closed his eyes once again to see if he could sleep but it wouldn't come. Sighing, he started going back through the files on his iPad. Before he'd gone overseas, he'd uploaded the schematics of every bomb known to the military and began quizzing himself again about the steps to take in disarming each type.

Master Sergeant Lyttle woke. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping in an awkward position. He scanned the compartment to check on his men; they were still asleep. All were sleeping except for the light bird added to his roster. The man carried himself like an officer and wore the insignia of one but not a unit patch; Master Sergeant had his reservations. His superiors had assigned the lieutenant colonel to his unit with the instructions to ask no questions but train him on whatever he requested and to not let him get killed. The man had messed with the officers but Lyttle heard that he'd always sat off by himself in the mess hall spending his time reviewing bomb specs on his iPad. Surreptitious glances had shown Lyttle that the man was _still _reviewing those specs. He figured that the man dreamed about bombs now. EOD members were forbidden cell phones; an inopportune call could set off a device. He had been cut off from the states. The lt. colonel did not watch movies, did not call anyone on the satellite phone, did not play football, did not join in with any activity on base, did not get drunk. He studied and worked out in the gym. Sitting back against the bulkhead, the Master Sergeant crossed his arms. He hated mysteries and this Lt. Colonel James was definitely one. No one could complain that the man hadn't worked hard learning the job. He himself did not know of anyone who could have learned the job so well so fast.

The pilot's voice came over the intercom, "We're approaching Wheeler-Sack Airfield. Prepare for landing."

Clint turned off his iPad. He'd disabled the wireless for the entire tour but he figured it might be a bumpy landing, and he didn't want to risk the device to his sweaty grip. Around him, the others were waking up. Stowing the computer into his duffle, Clint tightened the flight straps. God, he wanted away from this engine.

One smart ass said to the compartment at large, "Please raise your seats to their upright positions, make sure your tray tables are stowed, and turn off all items that have an on-off switch." There was laughter from the men. Soon they would be hearing those words for real as they took commercial flights to head home.

As the transport rolled to a stop, the central aisle was packed with soldiers grabbing their gear. Unlike a civilian plane, disembarking was expedited with extreme efficiency. Exiting the plane into the bright sunny morning, Clint let the other soldiers off first. They'd been there 327 more days than he had; they'd earned their respite.

Groundside, Master Sergeant was checking off the men disembarking and sending them over to the hanger nearest them. He spotted Colonel McNeil heading his way and turned to salute his superior. Once he'd reported, Colonel McNeil asked about Lt. Colonel James. Turning, Lyttle scanned the field; the man was nowhere to be found. Facing the colonel, he tried to figure what to say. "He must already be in the hanger." Giving a withering glance to the Master Sergeant, Colonel McNeil followed the unit into the shade of the hanger where it was a few degrees cooler.

When Clint had exited the transport, he bypassed the Master Sergeant who was checking soldiers off a list on a clipboard. He headed towards the hanger directly. He needed to check in with his own superior. Inside, an MP stopped Clint as he headed towards a room at the back. "I'm sorry, sir, that area's off limits."

Agent Barton did not respond. He just shifted his grip on his duffle. Remembering his apparent rank, he said, "Stand down," and walked past. He smiled a little; he'd always wanted to say that.

The MP allowed the Lt. Colonel to walk past him; he'd learn very quickly. The office in the back had been converted to a sealed office some months ago. There would be no entry. He turned to watch. He always enjoyed seeing an officer taken down a peg. He smirked, waiting.

Clint placed his thumb on the reader, bent down so it could read his retina, and opened the door oblivious to the consternation of the MP behind him. Once in the room, Clint dropped his duffle and shrugged out of his uniform jacket. His locker was to the left and he opened it. First things first. He pulled his bowcase out, opened the case, and checked that his bow was in perfect working condition by snapping it open and testing the bowstring. Satisfied, he closed it up again. Taking his phone off the top shelf, Clint opened it and hit speed dial.

"Welcome back, Agent Barton." Director Fury's rich tones rolled out of the phone. "I've heard good things about your stint in Bagdad. I'm glad we can count on you in case we have to deal with certain scenarios."

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Clint didn't realize that his shoulders relaxed a tad. To be depended on, especially after the events of the past few months, was what he needed to hear the most.

"Your orders are on hold as of now. Agent Romanoff is still uncovering all the names of those pigeons that you will be looking for. As of now, they have not all come to roost." Director Fury was being obtuse as he wasn't completely certain that the transmission was 100% secure. "Instead, you are to go to Stark Tower for a few days until it is time."

Clint was used to plans changing. Targets moved and it sounded like there was more than one that he had to take out. Fury had told him and Natasha when he was first trying to establish the Avengers that he wanted a SHIELD agent with the team as much as possible. Fury needed reins on Stark, and he had chosen his two best agents, the two who could actually keep up with the Avengers, as members. Clint guessed that with Natasha busy on assignment, it was his turn.

On the phone Fury cleared his throat bringing Clint's attention back to him. "Your issued vehicle is in the motor pool; the keys are in the lock box. I'll contact you when you can continue with your mission."

"Yes, sir."

"That's all, agent." Fury hung up. He was glad Barton was back. Both Dr. Banner and Thor had assured him, had given him data as proof that Barton was not under any influence from Loki any more. Barton had always been a top agent ever since he'd joined SHIELD. Fury believed that Barton would be needed again many times in the future. His actions over the years had saved many lives, lives of people who never knew that they had been in danger. Fury ignored the Council's fears about Barton's allegiances. He was certain of his agent. He just wished the rest of SHIELD accepted his decision.

Clint closed his phone. Car. Stark Tower. Manhattan. At least a six hour drive. Clint had to make a choice. Sleep now on the cot in the corner or later. He knew he was nowhere near his best but he also knew he had not reached his limits. He decided to go. Clint dragged off his shirt, took a clean one out of his locker and put it on. He pulled out clean jeans to change into as well. There were no shower facilities in the room; he could have used it to wake up but clean clothes felt better than nothing. Clint took his black uniform jacket off the hook, put it on, and stuffed the dirty clothes into his duffle. His kit bag was on the floor of the locker. In it was necessities: razor, sundries, caffeine pills, an iPod, and MREs. Pulling out the bottle of pills, Clint swallowed two dry. A bite of MRE helped them go down but the bitter after taste was still nasty. Pausing long enough to retrieve the keys, Clint put on his sunglasses, grabbed his bow case in his left, and slung his duffle over his right shoulder. Time to go.

Colonel McNeil was still talking to Master Sergeant Lyttle when the door to the back room opened. Out stepped the missing Lt. Colonel. A riddle was solved for Colonel McNeil. He now understood why the man had been added to the unit as he had. Instructions had been to train him, but he'd been under no one's direct command. Not understanding what he had just seen, Master Sergeant Lyttle was surprised. He'd been warned off from that room himself and here was this enigma emerging from it. What was going on? He looked at his superior who seemed surprised but not upset. Whatever this meant was not a problem it seemed.

Approaching the two soldiers, Clint held out his hand. It was pointless to salute as he was no longer in uniform, and he really didn't wear it anyways. He didn't realize it but his carriage was different as well. He had always carried himself well but now he had a slight bounce to his step as though he was walking on the decks of a ship or balancing on a narrow beam. Watching him, McNeil saw a man who seemed to exude a new air of confidence. As if now he was once again in control. In control of what, McNeil had no idea. If McNeil had taken the time to think, he would have realized that is wasn't the man who had changed, it was his own impression of that man. He knew about SHIELD and their agents.

"I appreciate the training. Your men were very professional and helpful. Hope I never need this skill; I'd rather leave it to you. But I've got the knowledge if it becomes necessary." Clint was certain that Colonel McNeil knew enough about SHIELD to understand what he was implying. That was no need to explain why he would need such a skill. Continuing, Clint asked, "Do you know which mechanic is responsible for that C-130?"

"That would be Fernandez." Master Sergeant Lyttle pointed to a giant of a man; the guy stood over 6'5" and had such a bad attitude that they kept breaking his rank. If he hadn't been such a fantastic mechanic; he'd have been discharged already. This did not bode well.

Enlisted and officer observed as Barton approached the mechanic. They followed behind slowly. Colonel McNeil, who also knew of Fernandez's temper, had almost warned the SHIELD agent.

"You in charge of this plane?" asked Clint. He made his voice as bland as he could but the sneer on the other man's face gave him a hint about how this would go down. So be it.

Looking down at the civilian in front of him, Fernandez observed a muscular man in a black jacket with no recognizable insignia. He didn't recognize the stylized eagle on both shoulders of the jacket. This was a civvie on his turf. He crossed massive biceps across his own barrel-sized chest. "I'm the mechanic. What of it?" he boomed.

Clint didn't think the man could be intimidated but it was worth a try. "There's something wrong with that engine. Somewhere there is metal grinding on metal where it's not supposed to."

"And you have special hearing?"

"No. I just listen. Look, just go over the engine and…."

The mechanic cut in, "I don't need no civvie telling me…" he raised his massive fists to chest height.

"If any soldier is hurt or loses his life because of your incompetence or stupidity, I'm coming after you." The words were softly spoken, but the threat was clear.

"You and what army?"

"I don't need an army. You'll never know what hit you."

Colonel McNeil and Master Sergeant Lyttle sped up; they could see that Fernandez was about ready to attack. Their presence did nothing to deter him. The mechanic would pummel the shorter man. Or would he? Colonel McNeil knew a bit about SHIELD's training, knew what some agents were capable of. He actually wished he had time to place a bet.

Fernandez charged. Things did not go as he expected.

Seeing that Fernandez was going to charge him, Clint dropped his shoulder to allow the duffle to drop to the ground. He bent down to set his bow case on the tarmac. Clint continued his downward motion and placed his left hand on the ground. Using the arm as a pivot, he swung his legs around so that they kicked the mechanic back. Allowing his body to continue its motion, Clint flipped up and landed balancing on the balls of his feet. He dodged several punches that the lumbering mechanic tried to place while rapidly delivering punches of his own to the man's ribs and solar plexus. A right elbow swiped right to left across the man's nose followed by an uppercut with his left that put the mechanic horizontal on the ground.

Fernandez lay stunned on the ground; the sun outlined his opponent. A voice came out of that shadow, "Fix that plane or else." The threat hung in the air. Fernandez nodded as blood gushed out of his broken nose.

Turning, Clint picked up his bow case then his duffle in one easy motion. His sunglasses had stayed on his face; now they hid the rage coupled with glee in his icy eyes. The rage was for the sheer laziness of the mechanic and the glee was for the opportunity to get rid of his aggravation for the lack of sleep.

Barton nodded to the two soldiers as he passed. The motor pool was off to his right.

Behind him, Colonel McNeil allowed the Master Sergeant to chew out Fernandez. Both had a smile on their faces; a thrashing was what he'd needed but it wasn't allowed within ranks. Other mechanics within sight hid gleeful expressions as well. Their tormentor had had this coming. They couldn't wait to spread the story back in the barracks.

There was one matte black Acura in the motor pool labeled FPG 712. That was the vehicle that had been assigned to him since the Chitari attack. Tossing the duffle in the back and setting the bow case on the passenger seat, Clint settled into the driver's seat. Pulling out the iPod, he jacked it into the car's sound system. He had a music mix designed to keep him awake. The caffeine pills ended up in the center console along with two more MREs. He didn't want to stop more than he had to and coffee meant stopping too often. His plan was to only stop for gas. Gunning the engine, Clint took off. The sounds of Metallica blared out the cracked window.

He left the base behind heading for Stark Tower and some desperately needed rest.

**-0-0-0-0-**

Threading through the streets of Manhattan's reduced debris field, Clint was impressed with what Barnes and his crews had done. Of course, Clint had been gone over a month so some progress should have been made but still, it was impressive. Pulling into the garage at Stark Tower, he still refused to call it Avengers Tower, Clint showed his ID at the entrance. He parked the car where he'd once parked his bike. No other SHIELD car was present so he was on his own. His head swam as he stood up so he was careful about lifting the duffle out of the back. It wouldn't do to lose his balance here. He bet Stark had surveillance cameras and would give him grief if he saw weakness. Nearing the end of his endurance, Clint paced over to the elevator and gained access with a thumbprint. The elevator was dedicated to the top floors so it was a relatively quick ride to the top.

Clint leaned against the wall; he was using determination now. No energy left. His eyes were losing their focus so it took a few seconds to see who was in the common room when the doors opened.

JARVIS had warned Tony when Clint entered the garage. So the archer's presence as he emerged from the elevator was no surprise to those in the room. The state of his condition was.

"My god, you look like shit!" exclaimed Tony. He winced as Pepper smacked him, hard, in the bicep. "Well, he does!" he continued.

As Barton staggered out of the elevator, Pepper had to agree but she was much more tactful. Standing, she walked over to Clint. She gestured, "Leave your bag over here and I'll see it's taken care of." She ignored the fact that Clint still carried his bow case. Men and their toys. Then she stopped herself. That_ toy _had saved lives, maybe even Tony's.

Clint looked down at his hands surprised to see the duffle strap. He readily dropped it, but not his case. A line about prying it from his cold dead fingers flashed though his thoughts as a small smile crossed his lips.

Pepper brought him back to the present. "Would you like something to eat?' Fury had contacted them when Clint had landed at the base, but they didn't know when exactly he'd arrive. It was between scheduled meals but Pepper was never unprepared. "I've got some beef broth that I can quickly warm up. Would you like that right now?"

Clint thought a moment. "I really need sleep more than anything, but that would be great. Thank you." It had always been Coulson who'd watched out for him after missions. Clint and Natasha both tended to drive themselves into the ground. Phil had kept them grounded and healthy. Had.

"Let me show you your suite. It's not finished but it's finished enough so that you can sleep there." Pepper guided the man down the hall and opened one of the doors. As promised, his room had wooden floors and dark curtains already in place. "The bathroom is through there, and there are a few clothes that Natasha brought in the chest of drawers. I'll bring that broth as soon as it's done." She closed the door behind which allowed Clint the chance to look around.

"JARVIS?" Clint address the AI rather awkwardly. "When I go to sleep can you seal the door until I wake up?" Clint was exhausted but he knew from bitter experience that that was when he developed a hair trigger. He didn't want to hurt any of his teammates by accident if he was startled awake.

"Certainly sir. You understand that if there is a problem or Mr. Stark gives me a direct order, I will have to open the door."

"That's fine, just try to have Natasha near. I...I might," he searched for the right words, "I might hit someone if they startle me awake."

"Understood, sir."

Smiling as he saw the deep blue leather beanbag in the corner, Clint placed his bow case on a stand and dug into the chest of drawers. Pulling out clean clothes, he headed towards the bathroom. He needed a shower. He could feel the dried sweat sticky on his back and chest and his head itched. Turning the water to as hot as he could stand, Clint found soap and shampoo, unscented of course, ready. Scented shampoo could rat you out to a target just as easily as stale sweat.

When he emerged a few minutes later, he saw a large steaming mug on the dresser. It held a broth that was not too hot and was delicious. He finished it off quickly and was on the bed, asleep not much later.

Back in the common room, Pepper asked Tony, "Where had he been? He looks worn out. I thought you'd convinced Fury that he could be trusted."

"I thought I did too. Fury won't tell me anything and there's nothing that I've found in SHIELD's computers. Both Natasha and Clint's orders are very vague. I guess he knew I'd go looking. We'll just have to ask."

Knowing Natasha, Pepper guessed that Clint would be as equally closed mouthed. Those two would only share the minimum. She said the first of many prayers. That their reticence would not cause them harm. Pepper was not really a member of the Avengers, but she'd taken over the persona of den mother and was determined to keep them all balanced. Drawing in the archer was her next project. Natasha had pointed out that snipers, by definition, worked alone. Pepper was determined to let Clint know that he no longer had to live like that all the time. He was a part of them now, and they would not give up on him.

* * *

_I hope you liked this chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts about it. Zen brownies go to blueoctober who spotted the name of "Walsh" as a character that Jeremy played on The Unusuals. And I borrowed another of Jeremy's former roles for this chapter. It seemed to fit. McNeil is a family name however._

_If I have made any error with anything military, please forgive me. I tried to do research but Google doesn't work unless you know the right questions. If you spot anything horrific, let me know in case it's something that will also appear in a later chapter._


	5. Chapter 5

**Balancing His Ledger **

_I do not own any of the characters of the Avengers. I'm borrowing them to tell a story. This was originally part of last chapter, but I broke it into two parts and it ends on a mild cliffhanger because this part was rather long._

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Ground and Pound**

Natasha and Bruce were arguing in the hallway outside of Clint's room.

"Keep your voice down!" she hissed. Pepper had told her that the soundproofing wasn't completely in place around Clint's room.

JARVIS had denied Bruce access to Clint's room when he had tried to open the door.

"He's been in there too long," said Bruce. He was taking his responsibilities very seriously.

"If there was something wrong, wouldn't JARVIS have said something?"

Frustrated with her logic, Bruce tried to come up with another argument. "JARVIS, is Agent Barton ill?"

"No sir, he's merely sleeping."

"See!" exclaimed Bruce. "He shouldn't still be sleeping. He's been sleeping for 28 hours. That's not normal!" He paused, "Is it?" He needed to develop medical files on all the Avengers. If he was to be their doctor, he needed to know all he could. "Look, JARVIS. Open the door."

"I was ordered by Agent Barton to keep the door sealed. Only Mr. Stark or a medical emergency can override that order."

Slapping his hands against his thighs, Bruce turned to go back to the main room muttering under his breath, "I'll get Tony to…"

A small hand on his arm yanked him around. "You'll do no such thing. Look, if Clint was as worn out as you said from the mission, this is normal for him."

Bruce turned around and continued to the den. "Look, I know you know your partner but Pepper said…"

"Leave me out of this," said Pepper. She did not want to get in the middle of this argument. She looked up from her laptop where she'd been working on company emails.

The two Avengers continued to argue about Clint's physical well-being and did not see what Pepper had noticed. Clint himself was coming down the hallway. Never one to ignore the sights, Pepper admired the man's bare torso. Tony was the love of her life but the view was spectacular.

Scratching his head so that his hair stood up like a porcupine, Clint looked from Natasha to Bruce. Their voices had awakened him. The stiffness in his body told him that he'd been asleep for longer than normal. "Hey, Nat," he said.

As Natasha turned towards Clint's voice, she couldn't resist arching a brow at the scientist as if to say _I told you so._ The sight of Clint worried her. He looked to have lost about 10 pounds since she had last seen him. He was all whipcord and muscle with no extra fat, nothing for reserves if they were needed.

"Good morning," said Tony as he came into the room oblivious to the tension between Bruce and Natasha. "You sure take your leave very seriously but do you party too?"

Not getting it, Clint turned to Natasha to fill him in.

Not one to disappoint, she told him, "It's Tuesday morning."

Clint tried to add up the time difference from Bagdad, but his mind was still sleep muddled.

"You've been asleep for about 28 hours," Pepper translated. "You must be starving."

Now that it had been called to his attention, Clint recognized the ache in his middle.

"I've planned a dinner for tonight for the six of us but it's only 8:30 now."

"I'll help him get something for now, Pepper," said Natasha. It would give the two of them a chance to talk about her mission. "Eggs all right?" she thought protein might be best right now.

Like a well-oiled machine, the two split up duties. Clint washed and cut mushrooms and tomatoes while Natasha took out only two eggs; it would be a light meal then for him. A workout seemed to be on the agenda. After buttering the skillet, she cracked the eggs, whisked them in a bowl before dropping them into the pan, and then motioned for Clint to add the vegetables in.

"I was working within a company in D.C. so I could search their files for the names Fury needed. I've discovered who the targets are; there are five of them." Natasha had switched to Russian. "They are scientists who have been working on a dirty bomb. They're selling it to someone in Pakistan. The only way to take them out is at a distance; they are well-guarded and are not allowed to be near strangers."

"That explains my last mission. I was in Bagdad learning how to…"

"You know I could have JARVIS translate what you two are saying," said Tony. He'd come to the kitchen to get some coffee and felt like yanking their chain.

"Do that and we're out of here. Forever," spat Natasha.

Taken aback, Tony was surprised.

Placing a hand on Natasha's arm, Clint turned from the stove and added to his partner's threat. "I swear that if we're talking Russian it will be nothing that will harm anyone in this tower who's on our side. But Natasha's right, if we can't have a promise that you will not translate what we say, then we're leaving."

"No!" cried Pepper.

Bruce added, "Tony, they wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone here. They're not like Fury hiding an agenda. Are you?" He thought he understood that both assassins had the best interests of the team and the world at heart. But then he remembered that Natasha and probably Clint had known about Phase Two. And they were SHIELD first and foremost.

"We're talking about things you haven't been cleared for," said Natasha.

"Well, clear us. Read us in. Do whatever…" said Tony as he waved one hand in the air like a magician.

"We'll talk to Fury. But. We want our privacy just as much as you want yours. Or do you want us breaking into rooms in this tower just to see what's here?" Natasha gave no idle threat.

"You wouldn't. Would you? JARVIS won't..." Tony stopped. These two, while not expert hackers, were trained in numerous covert skills. They might be able to make good on their threat. He didn't want to discover something in his room especially on those nights Pepper was in town. "Ok. How about this?" Tony raised his voice, "JARVIS, do not translate for anyone's benefit what Agent Romanoff or Agent Barton say in a foreign language unless it is detrimental to anyone on our side." He turned to the agents, "Is that acceptable?" At their nod, he continued, "This is a Level 7. It cannot by revoked by anyone, even me, unless one of the two agents is present and agrees."

"Understood, sir. Protocol engaged."

"There?" said Tony.

Clint felt a need to explain. "It's just we are used to talking in Russian when we're talking about sensitive information. It's how we work." Things were more complicated working around civilians. His brow furrowed. _What was the Avenger's designation? What were their clearances? _He'd ask for clarification the next time he could.

Pointing towards the stove, Tony said, "Your breakfast is starting to burn."

With a muffled curse, Clint turned to the stove to rescue his breakfast. It wasn't burned, just a tad browner than he liked.

Natasha joined him at the breakfast bar with two glasses of juice.

With a look at Tony, she said in Russian, "So you were in the desert?"

Swallowing a chunk of omelet, Clint said, "I was learning how to disable bombs. I guess it has to do with your scientists."

"But he knows how to do that," she said not wanting to name Tony. He'd catch his own name amid the Russian. Tony had moved back to his workstation. He was not going to give them the satisfaction that their moral victory irritated him.

"He's of most use flying cover and attacking from above. If a bomb needs to be disarmed, then I'm the best one. I'm more mobile on the ground, and I can cover myself. Plus, he'd have to take off his hand things to cut all the wires. That would be two weapons we might need that we don't have."

"Good point," she said switching to English. "So how long has it been since you've sparred?"

"Too long. I didn't feel like fighting any of the soldiers; I didn't think they'd give me a solid workout, and I might have hurt them. I just used the bags and free weights."

"Wait until you see the gym that we've got." Natasha's voice was filled with glee. "Tony asked what we needed and what Steve needed and designed us a great arena. It covers an entire floor."

"I'm in trouble aren't I?" Clint, while very good at hand to hand, was not quite equal to Natasha. He popped his head from side to side to try and pop his neck. He must have slept in the same position for too many hours. All his muscles were tight.

"Workout clothes are in your dresser," Natasha called out behind her as she left the kitchen. "Hallway in 10."

Clint rinsed his dishes and then looked around for a dishwasher. JARVIS obliged him by illuminating it with a small light. "Thanks." Back in his room, Clint found what he was looking for. Sweat pants would not work for him as they were too loose around the waist. He had pairs of cotton pants of a similar style but lighter weight than his uniform. While dressing, he addressed the AI. "Can you project a wire frame mock up of a technical device?"

"Of course, sir, I do it for Mr. Stark all the time. Do you have specifics?"

Clint started to rattle off the names of devices and stopped himself when he saw his iPad on the dresser.

"Ms. Potts placed it there while you were eating breakfast."

"Can you upload from the iPad?"

"Certainly."

Clint turned on iPad and then the wireless and finished getting dressed. "At the end of our workout, can you project one of those bombs as a digital wire image that is a manipulable projection? One that I can practice disarming?" Now Tony would know what it was he and Natasha had been talking about in Russian. The irony didn't escape him.

"Which bomb do you want me to display?"

"Dealer's choice."

Clint was ready, but he needed something from his duffle. Nodding to Natasha standing in the hallway, he said, "I need something else first."

Entering the den again, he asked, "Pepper, there was a small bag in my duffle. Do you know where it is?"

"Sure, Clint, it's over there on that table."

"Thanks." Clint went to it and took out some needle nose pliers and a screwdriver as well as wire snips. He placed them in a thigh pocket and headed back down the hallway.

He stopped long enough to toss the bag onto his bed and then turned to Natasha. "Ready."

She led him to another elevator and they dropped two floors.

The doors opened to reveal a huge workout area. Directly to the left of the doors was a boxing ring. To the right of that was a punching bag hanging from the exposed H beams. Several more were stacked up against the wall. Further on were two treadmills and a stationary bike. At the very end on the left was a series of targets attached to the wall. A stack of acoustic tiles was stacked against the back wall along with some ducts and pipes. The far right wall contained racks for weapons; he saw at least one quiver hanging there alongside some knives of various lengths. Below the racks was a row of tables. That would be great for what he had in mind for practicing with his new training. Closer to the door on the right was a large mat perfect for hand to hand. There was a catwalk that encircled three sides of the room but stopped ten feet from the front wall on both sides. The catwalk had open ends. Near the door, a rope hung down from another beam. Clint was impressed. It was far better than anything he'd had access to with SHIELD.

"Like it? Tony is going to build a shooting range over there." Natasha pointed to the back of the room.

He smiled. Going over to the mat, Clint began to stretch.

"JARVIS. Lock the door against anyone walking in on us. We're going to be using live steel," ordered Natasha. "Don't open until I give the okay."

0-0-0

"Sir."

"Yeah, JARVIS." Tony had gotten over his snit and was talking to Bruce. They were looking at a molecular model and arguing about how to alter it to make a stronger yet lighter and more flexible form of Kevlar. They both felt they needed to do something to keep Natasha and Clint safer.

"Sir. You asked to be notified when Agents Romanoff and Barton sparred in the gym."

"I did? I did!" He realized what was going to happen. This could be very enlightening. "JARVIS, call up a video feed of the fighting and project it over there." Tony pointed to the space in front of the couch. "Bruce. Pepper. I think this is going to be very interesting. JARVIS, is Rogers in the building?"

"Yes, sir, he's coming up the main elevator now."

Rubbing his hands together gleefully, Tony rummaged in the pantry until he found the bucket of gourmet popcorn. This should be better than a movie. "Come on Bruce. I know you'll want to see this."

Taking off his glasses, "See what?"

"Our two master assassins are going to try to kick each other's ass. You'll never see them fight when you're a green rage monster so this should be fun."

The elevator doors opened just then and Steve Rogers stepped out. Waving at him, Tony said, "Come and watch our SHIELD buddies fight."

As team leader, Steve was glad he'd have a chance to see what those two could do without being distracted in a fight himself.

Unaware of their audience, Clint and Natasha stopped stretching and approached the weapons rack. Natasha took down a staff she'd marked as hers and Clint lifted several until he found one that had a good feel to his hand. Stepping towards the mat, he twirled it in front and in back of him. Placing a hand on the end, he vaulted in the air and stayed there suspended above the pole, his feet aimed at the ceiling with his body supported by his left hand. Movement out of the corner of his eye made him rotate to descend so that when Natasha kicked the pole out from under him, he was already dropping down. He landed square.

"Ready?" she challenged.

He didn't reply; he charged. The two agents' staffs twirled and whirled. They were a blur of motion. They struck at each other with the poles' ends and with the sides. The blows were hard but not crippling. They would have bruises to remember the match, however. Whenever a blow connected, the recipient grunted and then pushed back. Time went away. There was nothing in the room but the opponent and the opponent's staff.

A bell rang. Both grounded their staffs and stood breathing heavily for a few seconds before they got their wind back.

"How long was that?" Steve asked.

JARVIS answered. "Agent Romanoff asked me to alert them at the end of ten minutes."

The watchers were impressed. Boxing and other contact sports had rounds of only two minutes each. Ten minutes must have felt like forever.

"What are they doing now?" asked Pepper.

Stepping off the mat, Clint racked his staff and gestured to Natasha. "Next?"

She chose a knife. He took another one. Both had edges on only one side of the blade.

"I thought Barton was left handed?" asked Bruce.

Tony's eyes looked upward as he tried to remember which it was.

"He is," said Steve. "He draws his bow with his left hand."

"So why is he using his right?"

Clint hefted the knife in his right hand. He preferred to start with the right since he sometimes had a gun in his left when he wasn't using his bow. He held the knife so that the flat edge ran against his forearm. Natasha stood in a mirrored stance.

This time she moved first. Their unknown audience gasped. These two were going full speed with sharp knives and it looked like full extension. With his trained eye, Steve caught that each fighter's hilt was the contact point against flesh. Again, bruising but no blood. The two closed and used their free hands to hold back the other's knife hand.

Suddenly Natasha broke her grip and spun away. Her knife hand dropped. A shiver went down her spine. She met Clint's grey eyes and took a deep breath. Grey-blue not glowing blue.

Confused, Clint asked, "Are you alright?" He looked at his blade's edge but there was no red.

"No. Yes." She didn't want to clue him in but she had to. "For a second I was back on the helicarrier…" her voice trailed off.

"Our fight." His voice was clipped, lips pressed together as he shook his head. Clint closed his eyes and repeated in his head what Thor had told him. A light touch on his chest made him open his eyes to meet the green ones of his partner.

She gave him a slight smile. "We still have one thing to do." Tossing the knife around so that she held it by its tip, she turned and threw it at a target. It struck in the center. She cocked an eyebrow at Clint and challenged him with a smile. Without looking, he threw his own knife so that it skimmed hers and knocked it out of the target. His came to rest dead center in the target.

"Does that man have a targeting computer in his head?" Tony's question to the room was unanswered. Of them all, Steve was the most impressed. While he used his shield as a weapon, it was large enough that a near miss still did damage. Such accuracy he admired.

In the gym, the two agents moved to the center of the mat. Both were becoming tired; they were dripping with sweat. But enemies did not allow one to rest. This was the point in their workouts when they really went all out.

Natasha leaped and aimed a roundhouse kick that Clint avoided by dropping down and sweeping his legs across to try and knock her down. She did a backflip to avoid the move and came at him with a flurry of punches. He blocked them, pivoted around her with a backfist aimed at her chest. Natasha crossed her arms to block the punch and kicked at his thigh. He twisted his body so that her foot swept past, grabbed her leg, and locked it against his neck. He began to drop while continuing to twist. If he had been serious, the move should have broken her leg. Instead, he allowed her leg to rotate within his grip. Natasha went down onto her hands and stomach. She rolled over quickly and scissored her own legs to sweep him off his feet. He hit the mat hard. They grappled on the ground before breaking apart to stand once again. Fists flew and hands chopped down. Legs executed front and side kicks. Attacks succeeded and failed. Natasha leaped up and over Clint so that her thighs encircled his neck. They went down with her on top. The bell rang. She offered him a hand up.

The two combatants backed away from each other breathing hard. Natasha started to turn away. "Hold," said Clint. When she paused, he added, "guard." Confused, Natasha acted as though they were on a mission, looking around for any enemy and protecting her partner.

Clint spoke to JARVIS, "Give me a mock up please." Walking towards a side table, Clint pulled out the screwdriver, pliers, and wire snips from his pocket. A wire frame image of a bomb glowed to life on the table. Noticing, Natasha understood what her partner intended with the practice at the end of their practice.

"Is that one of yours?" asked Steve.

"Noooo," said Tony. What was going on? Why was Barton practicing disarming a bomb?

Natasha paced out a semi-circle around Clint. She would have to ask JARVIS to program virtual enemies the next time they practiced this scenario. Watching Clint, she was amazed at the certainty of his actions. The bomb's timer showed 2:00 and began to count down as he approached it. He traced the path of the wires within the bomb in his mind first before beginning. He removed the bomb's blasting cap with one hand making sure it didn't touch the metal edges of the artillery shell. He cut one wire leading to the blasting cap before flipping the artillery around and cutting the other wire. The visible timer stopped at 23 seconds.

He'd done better in Bagdad. But that's why he'd chosen to do this after a strenuous workout. He might have to disarm a bomb after fighting his way in to where it was. Nodding his head, he packed his tools into his pocket and turned to Natasha. "Evade," was all he said.

The gamin grin she gave him let him know she was up for it. God, he missed working out with her. She challenged him like no other and her joy in the physicality was obvious. He might be in trouble.

Turning around, Natasha pointed to the catwalk around the room. "Let's go!" she commanded. Clint looked around briefly and ran to one of the supporting poles and turned. She was almost on him. Putting down both hands into a cup, Clint was ready to propel her upwards by her foot. Grasping the railing, she flipped herself over onto the catwalk and sprinted towards the open end. Clint stepped away from the wall and leaped at it. His foot hit the wire conduit pipe going around the room, and he used his momentum to continue his upward motion. He reached for the floor of the catwalk and pulled himself up onto it. Rolling to his feet, he followed Natasha.

She had leaped off the end of the catwalk and grabbed the rope hanging from the ceiling. She began to climb. By the time Clint leaped, she was already several feet above his head. She'd asked for a platform to be installed next to the top of the rope and stepped off the rope and onto it. Clint joined her. She said smiling, "What do you think of the room?"

"It's great but can we add some stuff?"

"Tony let us design it so I guess so. What else should we have?"

"Let's brainstorm. Later." Clint leaned out to grab the rope and slid down confident that Natasha was behind him.

In the common room, the popcorn sat forgotten on the table. The watchers were stunned by the spectacle of the two assassins.

Tony, of course, found his voice first. "Well, now we know what they can do. I feel…intimidated. I wonder if they are the only SHIELD agents like this." Turning to Bruce he asked, "Are you sure that they're normal? That, that is not normal. They are not normal."

"I don't know that they've had any physical alterations. I would have thought Fury or anyone else for that matter would not have messed with chemicals since my own _mishap_ trying to imitate what Dr. Erskine had done with Steve here."

"I think they're just very good at what they do," spoke up Pepper. She felt better knowing what Natasha was capable of. The woman seemed so small when compared to the men. She could hold her own it seemed.

Bruce wondered how he could ask their permission to run tests. He was curious about them now.

Back in the gym, Natasha was throwing a towel at Clint. She'd pulled it out of a cabinet near the door. He sank down onto the bench against the wall, exhausted.

Natasha sank down next to him with a towel in her own hand.

Clint mopped his dripping face and stiffened at the twinges he felt in his arms. He turned his head to one side as if trying to hear a sound. Another twinge, this time longer and more painful, seized his biceps. He sat upright and inhaled slowly. What was happening? The next seizure contorted his arms so much that he gasped. His arms were contracting.

Noticed the pain on Clint's face, Natasha asked, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," he got out through clenched teeth. "I…" whatever he started to say was swallowed up by a groan of pain. Clint slipped off the bench onto the floor. He curled into a ball around the pain. It was becoming difficult to breath.

"Clint!"

* * *

_I hope you liked it; if you did, please let me know. I waited to post this chapter until I had the next one written. I'll proofread Chapter 6 a few times and then post soon. I don't want to leave you hanging for very long._


	6. Chapter 6

**Balancing His Ledger **

_I own nothing of the characters of Marvel's The Avengers except some cool cards. _

* * *

_**Chapter 6 – Beset**_

"Clint!"

The watchers in the den heard Natasha's yell and turned as one back to the image still being projected by JARVIS. They saw her crouched over Clint who was groaning with pain. Steve was off the couch the fastest, but Bruce was right behind him.

JARVIS opened the elevator's door to whisk them downstairs. They all ended up in a jam outside the gym since that door did not open.

"JARVIS! Open the door!" yelled Bruce. He could **not** let the anger take control now. The door remained closed.

Tony issued the order, "JARVIS, let us in." Tony realized they would have to have safety words or something because he might not be available to override commands issued by the others. He'd ordered JARVIS to accept certain orders from the team members, but orders like Natasha's could lead to problems. Pepper had always had the ability to override his commands but no one else. He added it to his _to do_ list.

"Yes sir." The door opened and let them in.

Clint had curled into a ball on the floor. Natasha was at his head helping him focus on breathing. He was gasping trying to get air into his lungs. He could not unclench his muscles.

Bruce took over. "Clint! Do you have any idea what is wrong?" A headshake was his only answer. "Steve, help Natasha hold Clint. See if you can get him to straighten out a bit. JARVIS! Scan Barton for any injury. Natasha? Do you know what injured him?"

"No. I don't know what…" she broke off as Clint gasped out a yell. He'd been trying to stay silent but it hurt when Steve grasped his right arm and extended it.

Steve was trying to be careful. The bicep was all bunched up. "Bruce, is this normal?" Steve asked pointing to the baseball sized lump in Clint's arm. Bruce noticed that the other bicep had the same lump.

"Sir. I can find no injuries to cause such pain in scanning Agent Barton."

Bruce thought he might know what was wrong. "Tony! Do you have a blood scanner handy?" He'd not asked for one for the infirmary. It would take time to draw blood and run tests.

"JARVIS! Did we bring in the medical scanner that I used to check for palladium poisoning to this tower?"

"Yes sir. It should be in your bathroom."

"I'll get it!" yelled Pepper glad that there was something she could do. Listening to Clint's suppressed groans made her want to cover her ears. He sounded to be in such pain.

When she reached their suite, she ran into the bathroom. Jerking open the door to the medicine cabinet, she rummaged through trying to spot the scanner. Things dropped out into the sink. She didn't see anything that looked like a scanner. Pepper dropped to her knees and started pulling things out onto the floor from the cabinet below the sink. She spotted a hand sized silver box labeled Stark Medical Scanner. She grabbed it and lifted it into the air, "Is it this JARVIS?"

"Yes ma'am."

Lurching to her feet, Pepper took off for the gym. When she arrived, she saw that they had helped Clint uncurl his body a bit. He was still gasping for breath. She held out the scanner to Bruce who took a blood sample.

"JARVIS. Is there anything off?" Bruce asked.

JARVIS confirmed his suspicion. "His potassium level is at 1.9, sir, and he is extremely dehydrated. His electrolyte levels are low as well."

Bruce knew Barton could be in serious trouble. Potassium levels should not be much lower than 3.5. If the level dropped too low, the heart, which is also a muscle, could go into spasms that could lead to death. Turning to the others, "We need to get him to the infirmary." Bruce had insisted that if Tony were serious about the Avengers then they would need an infirmary. Tony, Natasha, and Clint could be hurt, and Bruce demanded a well-stocked infirmary in the tower. He was glad he had. "I'll meet you there." He took off at a run.

JARVIS turned on the infirmary lights as Bruce ran in. He pulled open a drawer to take out a syringe. The refrigerator held rows of bottles. Since Bruce had stocked the fridge, he knew exactly where the potassium was. He took out the bottle and drew some into a syringe. It would help with the cramps until he could get Barton hooked up to an IV.

Steve reached down and pulled Clint up to a standing position. Tony slid under Clint's other arm to help support him as they headed towards the elevator. Natasha had wanted to help but her slight frame would have had difficulty if Clint had lost his balance. "I'm ok now," he said. "Just help me to my room. I'll sleep it…"

"Oh no," said Steve. "Bruce told us to take you to the infirmary and that's where we are going."

Steve entered supporting most of Barton's weight as they turned to squeeze in through the doorway. They wrestled him onto the narrow bed and Bruce tried to pull down his arm to find a vein. No good. "Steve, help me. Pull his arm straight very slowly. Don't tear a muscle as you do it." Bruce did not have to search for a vein; Clint's were bulging. The potassium was injected. Bruce turned away to ready an IV. He pulled a saline bag out and added potassium and benzodiazepine. "Bring that over," he said pointing to the IV stand.

Clint was able to breathe easier, and his features had relaxed. His muscles began to relax. He opened his eyes and met the green ones of his partner. He blinked to bring the room into focus. "What happened?"

Bruce swabbed Clint's arm with an alcohol pad and deftly inserted the IV needle. "You are severely dehydrated. I know you were asleep for over a day but that doesn't account for it. This is cumulative. Not several hours or even a few days but we're talking weeks here." Bruce didn't think SHIELD would run its operatives into the ground like this. From what he'd seen, agents like Barton and Romanoff were rare.

"Tell him, Clint." Seeing Clint was deciding what to say exactly, Natasha told the others, "He's been in the Middle East."

"That would explain some of it, but you've been away from there for over two days at least."

"C-130's aren't built for comfort and you kinda limit intake. They have facilities of a sort but still…" Clint stopped; he didn't want to explain about piss tubes in front of Pepper. "And I used caffeine pills to keep me awake while driving here. No coffee or water."

"That would do it. All right. I think the emergency is over so why don't the rest of you go back upstairs."

Steve, Tony, and Pepper headed out.

"Do you want me to cancel dinner?" Pepper asked Tony. She felt awkward about asking. "It's delivery and I think I should just postpone…"

"Why don't you wait a bit and see what Bruce says. If it was just an imbalance, he should be able to fix up Clint in no time. Even if _he_ can't eat,_ we_ still need to."

Pepper nodded but she decided to add to the order. A good soup to go with the French food might tempt Clint if he didn't feel like eating or if Bruce limited his choices.

For his part, Tony hoped Bruce would be able to help the archer. There was no way he was going to call Fury to tell him he'd broken one of his two top assassins. Tony made another mental note to ask Natasha if Clint did this to himself often. He himself could become so focused he'd lose track of things like eating and sleeping. Pepper and JARVIS had always brought him back to the real world. Maybe he should add a protocol to JARVIS to keep a watch over the team's eating and sleeping habits as well. He'd noticed that Bruce often delayed both in the midst of experimentation too.

0-0-0

Natasha was not going anywhere. She stayed in the infirmary.

Clint tried to get up anyway but Natasha stopped him with a hand on his chest. When he protested, "Nat, I just need some sleep. That shot took the edge off," she shook her head and then covered his mouth when he started to protest. She took her hand away when he relaxed but had to threaten him again with silencing when he tried to speak again.

Clint lay back against the gurney, drained. The workout had been challenging enough but this assault on his body by his own body had taken a lot out of him. He took a deep breath relieved that he finally could. "I feel better now, Bruce. Can't I just go sleep it off in my room instead of having to have this thing?" Clint raised his arm and made a motion to take out the needle. Maybe he could at least convince the doctor.

"Oh, you'll sleep it off but right here. Don't you dare touch that needle either."

Clint sank back against the pillow. Soon, his body started to feel heavy. His eyes would not stay open. "Nat!"

She was at his side in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"He put something in this." Clint was slurring his words. He tried to pull out the IV but Bruce forestalled him. Natasha grabbed Bruce's hand and twisted it around and off the IV.

"What did you put in that!" she pointed to the IV bag.

"I put in potassium, electrolytes and an anesthetic."

"Why?" croaked Clint.

"Because I think you would pull that needle out before you got all of that bag in you. I did it for your own good. You need this entire IV."

Betrayed, Clint grabbed Natasha's arm with his left hand. "Don't let…" He couldn't finish. His tongue felt like cotton.

"I'll watch. I'll be here when you wake up."

Clint's eyes closed.

Once she saw that her partner was unconscious, she turned on Bruce. "You should have told us what you were doing. You can't just…"

"Hold on there, Natasha. I will do what's best for the health of anybody I treat. I only screw around with my own DNA. Has he always ignored his health or is this new? Is this because of the Loki thing." Bruce knew Natasha and Clint hated talking about that time but it could be a motive. "Is Clint so determined to make up for what happened that he will keep going until he drops?"

Natasha shrugged her shoulders, uncomfortable with the direction this was going. "Clint is very private. Coulson was pretty much the only other person besides me who could get him to take care of himself. It's hard to explain," she said sitting down in a chair. "Clint was a member of SHIELD before me, you know that, yes?" Upon getting an affirmative, she continued, "He had a lot of really bad experiences growing up." She was not going to give Bruce the details that she knew. It was up to Clint to explain about being orphaned young, the circus, and his brother's betrayal.

"I didn't know that," said Bruce. He'd had his own issues with an abusive father; he could only sympathize with what he guessed that Clint must have gone through to make him the man he was today. Thinking about it, all of the Avengers seemed to have had horrible childhoods or at the very least some major parental issues. He wondered if that was a driving factor in their determination to serve…Bruce pulled himself back to the conversation at hand. Time for that direction of thought later.

Bruce picked up the scanner and took another blood sample. "JARVIS, give me a new reading. Put it up here," he ordered pointing to one of the screens. Bruce put on his glasses and started flipping between two sets of numbers. He turned to face Natasha. "He's improving, but he definitely needed that IV. What I can't understand is how he was able to fight at all. He should have collapsed sooner."

She shrugged her shoulder and smiled slightly. "We have a lot of experience in ignoring distractions both external and internal. It comes with the job"

"JARVIS, run a CT scan on Agent Barton and let me see that as well."

After a brief time, the computer said, "Here it is, sir."

Bruce tapped the screen so that layers were created. When he reached the skeletal level, he stopped. "Natasha? How many times has Clint been hurt?"

Natasha stepped to his side. She looked at what he was looking at but was unsure of his point. "What do you mean?"

Bruce pointed to several points. "See this here and here and here?" At her nod he continued, "these are bones that have been broken." There were many points that he'd not drawn her attention to. But they were there. Bruce was saddened at the life Clint had led so far. He shook his head to dispel his negative thoughts. "I'm going to create a medical file for each of you. I want a complete breakdown so that I can track when something is off so that I can prevent this from happening again. Can I take your blood sample now?"

"I'm not going anywhere until Clint wakes up so do your worst." Natasha held out a hand. Soon Bruce was over in the corner muttering to himself. Sure enough. Both agents were completely human. They seemed to have had no genetic modifications, but he'd need a deeper DNA scan to be sure. In the meantime, he had the beginnings of a file on each. He turned back to Natasha. She was standing by her partner's side, a hand gently brushed his cheek. The only tender gestures he'd ever seen her give were towards Clint. Bruce strangled his curiosity about them. Whatever they had between them was their business. He sighed. Tony would keep bringing it up, as he had already, until one of them hurt him, or he got an answer. Bruce was betting it would be the former.

Feeling his eyes upon her, Natasha turned. "Yes?" She was grateful that he'd helped Clint so quickly. Bones, blood, bruises were things they knew about. Chemical imbalances they did not.

"Could I get a CT scan of you since we're here?" Seeing that Natasha looked like she would argue, Bruce continued. "I really do want to create files on all of you. I need to know of any prior conditions to be effective."

Understanding the logic behind his request, Natasha lay down on the second gurney. Meeting Bruce's eyes, she knew he'd find some of the same type of damage within her own body that he'd already remarked upon with Clint's. She could tell that it bothered him, but he kept his mouth shut. When allowed, she stood and went back to Clint's side. She waited.

0-0-0

She called Bruce's attention to the fact that the IV bag was now empty. Removing the needle from the archer's arm, Bruce assured her he'd wake up in about an hour.

When Clint opened his eyes, the green eyes of Natasha met his first. "How do you feel?"

Struggling upright, Clint noticed that the IV was gone.

"Bruce said that your values are almost normal and that a good meal and some rest should finish the job."

Bruce stepped up to Clint's side. "If I'm the team doctor, I'm going to insist on regular check-ups." As Clint began to protest, Bruce cut him off. "What if your body shut down like that in the field?" He didn't elaborate since he could see that Clint was doing that all by himself. "If you won't take of yourself, I'll step in."

Clint and Natasha shared a look. They both heard Coulson's voice saying the same thing to them over the past years. They hoped Bruce would not abuse their privacy. They didn't think he would.

"Can I talk to you alone for a minute Clint?" Bruce waited while Clint swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and nodded to Natasha. She stepped out into the hallway shutting the door behind her. She looked back through the glass window and stared at Bruce.

Placing his back to the door because he knew Natasha would be reading lips, he said, "Thank you. I've never had that happen before."

"Well let's make that a one time only, no encore, okay. You scared the shit out of us."

"I didn't plan for that to happen."

"Clint. I need to ask." Bruce took his glasses off and fiddled with the frames. He really had no idea how to couch his question. In the short time he'd known Clint, he'd never seen him get angry. But everyone has a button. He did not want to push the assassin's. Taking a deep breath, Bruce asked, "Have you always ignored injuries?" He paused, "Or is this your way of letting your need for making amends taking control of your life?"

Clint closed his eyes and pursed his lips. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit Bruce had a valid question. "I don't think so. I mean I've been hurt in the field before and always just pushed through it."

"I'm not talking about ignoring the pain. I'm talking about courting it as if you think you deserve to be punished?"

Outside, Natasha wished she knew how Clint would answer next. But he knew she was watching and knew what she could do. He kept his back to her.

"What I did, no matter what Thor or you or anyone says is still what** I** did. People died by my actions or inaction depending on how you look at it. I've got to make it right. Natasha is always talking about balancing her ledger. I will be spending the rest of my life trying to make up for what Loki made me do. I..." Clint stopped talking. He had made up his mind under the merciless sun of Bagdad that he would do whatever it took to balance his own ledger. "Are we done for now?"

"Just so you know, I am a very stubborn doctor. I will not allow you to give up on yourself or destroy yourself. Believe it or not, Clint, we need you." He grasped the younger man's arm and squeezed it. He needed to get his point through. God, the man was immensely stubborn. Another trait it seemed of all the Avengers.

Clint nodded and turned to open the door. Looking Natasha in the eyes, Clint said, "Let's get cleaned up." The two left the lab behind. Bruce stayed to keep working. He'd have to get the others down here soon.

0-0-0

The dinner table was covered with the remains of an excellent meal. Conversation had been about mundane things such as football. That was a topic even Steve could join in about. Natasha was practiced at hiding her boredom from others; she used the time to get a read on the others.

Tony confused everyone when he took the conversation in a completely different direction with no segue. "So why were you practicing diffusing bombs, huh? Planning on taking out insurgents all by your lonesome. Don't want the rest of us to have any fun? We were watching you two fight." Tony knew what the startled look the agents were giving him was about. He smirked.

If looks could kill, then Stark was dead. "What do you mean you were watching? When did you add the cameras? I cleared that room last week!" Natasha exclaimed. Clint was right. Stark was too damn nosy.

Tony had actually learned something. He did not crow that he'd outsmarted Natasha for once. He valued his skin too much. "JARVIS, show them," Tony ordered.

The screen flickered to life and Natasha saw the gym from above. A part of Natasha's mind noted the camera's location, observed to analyze her style and Clint's, but the major part of her started to get angry. The spy was not happy to be spied upon. She turned to confront Tony who pointed and claimed, "It's all Steve's fault."

"Who me? No, keep me out of this," Steve turned to Natasha. "Stark told _me_ to watch you…" Deciding that being apologetic wasn't going to work, Steve took on the mantle of leader. "Look. If I'm going to be calling shots in the middle of a battle, I need to know what everyone can do. Natasha, while I fought next to you and Clint, I don't know much about what the two of you are capable of. Watching the two of you going full out against an equally skilled opponent was very…" he paused trying to find a word that they would not consider to be too offensive, "instructive. In fact, Tony, I want the weapons information on your suit too."

Having the tables turned on him did not suit Stark. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the couch. "Why do you need to know about my suit? It's not like you have the technical know-how to understand the specs."

"Same reason you wanted to watch the SHIELD agents: knowledge is power. I need to know what we can all do separately and then work on strategies together. In fact, we might want to find some place outside that we can practice coordinating our attacks. Except for you, Bruce. No offense but…"

"But what I know does not mean that the _other guy_ knows. Practice for me won't affect _his_ actions. I can at least observe and give feedback." _And patch them up if it comes to that_, he thought.

Turning back to Clint and Natasha, Steve continued. The way the two of you coordinated the last bit of your training shows you've worked together a lot. You know what the other needs and you act without explaining. I want that level of skill for this team otherwise we're not a team. We're," he turned to Bruce, "what did you call us? Oh yeah, a train wreck. We cannot be a train wreck nor can we afford to act separately. That was what Loki had counted on and once we fought together as a team, we were able to defeat his entire army. **That** is what I want this team to be able to do each and every time." He stopped talking a little surprised at himself.

The rest of the team took a moment to think about what he'd just said. Natasha and Clint reached a silent accord, turned and nodded at Steve.

"Sure. Why not?" said Tony. "We can sell tickets." He ignored the withering looks that they gave him. Turning serious, he added, "You're right. We do need to do this but let's plan this out very carefully. We don't want anyone to see what we're doing. I'll work on it. Buy an island or something. Put some dinosaurs on it." He jerked away as Pepper moved towards him but relaxed as she made it clear she wanted to speak into his ear.

"I'd feel safer if you did practice. I'll look for some place starting tomorrow. Now, tonight..." She pulled away so he could see her face again and smiled.

"So do you all want to watch a movie?" asked Pepper brightly, turning to the others.

Things seemed to be settled for now.

"Actually, Pepper, I thought we could talk about what else this tower needs to be the Avengers Tower," said Tony. "JARVIS. Pull up the schematics over the table."

"Let's get things cleared off first," demanded Pepper and with so many willing hands, the table was cleared rapidly. All of them sat down in their seats again holding cups of coffee, tea, whiskey, or beer. The conversation became loud as they discussed what each had in mind. Knowing the tower as intimately as she did, Pepper was able to contribute ideas and made numerous notes. Tony could be so focused he could not see the little things that would make their lives more comfortable. They worked into the late evening before Bruce demanded that Clint get some more rest. The fact that the assassin did not argue showed that he agreed. Pepper dragged Tony out by the hand. The others followed, and the room was plunged into darkness. JARVIS was soon the only one awake.

0-0-0

Natasha woke to a soft knock on her door. "Nat?" She heard Clint's low call. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was 5:30. "Come."

Clint walked in wearing a grey suit and tie with a black shirt. He'd found several suits in his closet. "Fury called. The targets are in place. I'm off." He was flying commercial going into Pakistan. He wasn't even carrying his bow. Orders stated that he'd find what he'd need at the safe house.

"Do you think you need to check with Bruce?"

"No, I went down to the lab and stabbed myself with that scanner thing. JARVIS said the levels were within range. I'm good to go."

"I'll see you when you get back then," Natasha said getting out of bed to give him a hug. He held her tight and kissed her on the top of her head. Neither said anything about danger; it would be pointless.

"I'll see you later. Tell the others only what you need to." Clint walked out and shut the door behind him, picked up his bag that was in the hallway, and left Avengers Tower.

* * *

_The medical info was from research but in no way can I guarantee the absolute accuracy; I tried though. Hope you all liked this chapter and if you have any comments (constructive criticism is welcome) then please let me know. Next up, Clint on a solo mission._


	7. Chapter 7

**Balancing His Ledger **

**I own nothing from the world of Marvel, Joss Whedon, and anyone officially associated with the Avengers. I'm just trying to share my story with some other fans. Thanks to Dsgdiva for giving me that kick in the shorts to get this typed up and posted. I needed that. I hope you like this.**

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Mission Failed**

The elevator door opened to reveal Director Fury whose single eye was glaring at those standing in his path.

"When were you going to tell us the truth?" asked Steve Rogers.

"The truth, as you call it, is none of your business," stated Fury. _Hawkeye _is a member of the Avengers while Agent Barton is one of **my** SHIELD agents. And it was as my agent that he went to Pakistan." He paused to rub the bridge of his nose. "How did you even find out?'

Tony admitted, "My little webcrawlers caught the video. Face recognition software."

The three blocking Fury and Agent Romanoff backed away to let the two into the den of Stark Tower. They all moved into the main room and stood in front of the video screen which displayed the image of a battered and bloody Clint Barton.

"When are we going after him?" asked Bruce although he figured he'd go as physician rather than Avenger. The Hulk still wasn't under his conscious control.

"You're not," stated Fury flatly.

The group erupted into a cacophony of arguing and recriminations.

"Look," said Fury, "Barton went out there to assassinate some very dangerous people. He succeeded. The Avengers cannot be seen to be involved with political assassination. The Council will not allow it. You, Stark, are too recognizable as either Iron Man or yourself. If you go anywhere near Barton right now, I'm pulling the plug on the Avengers."

"Fine! You do that." spat Stark. "I can bankroll the Avengers."

"With who? I'll pull Barton and Romanoff, and since Rogers reenlisted when he was revived, that makes him my man too. That leaves you and Banner. Thor's not really here enough to be a solid member."

Tony was taken aback. He'd thought he would outsmart Fury, but now the tables were turned. "So you're just leaving Barton there?"

"No. I'm sending in Romanoff."

While the two strong-willed men were facing off, Natasha was watching the video that JARVIS was running on loop. She had noticed something odd when she'd first seen the video and wanted a closer look, so she walked closer to the display. Steve followed thinking she was upset at the sight of her partner looking so beaten and disheveled. He was surprised when she spoke.

"JARVIS. Start the feed again at 47 seconds into it and play at .8 speed." She stepped closer to the display and focused her gaze intently. She began to tap her fingers against one thigh as she watched. She spun around. "I need a tablet!"

Steve had no idea what she was talking about. He'd been living in Stark Tower for weeks and didn't recall seeing pads of paper lying around. He had no idea where he could find one.

"Agent Romanoff, you will find a tablet and stylus in the fourth drawer to your left," JARVIS informed her.

Retrieving both, Natasha parked herself in front of the screen and asked JARVIS to start the feed again as she booted the tablet's system. "This time run it at .5 speed and enlarge it so that I just see Clint's right eye from brow to cheekbone. Turn off the sound."

The others had noticed her focused attention and stepped up behind her.

Natasha took a deep breath to regain her focus. It was hard to ignore the deep bruising that she now saw magnified. As the feed began, she made marks on the tablet. When the recording reached its end, JARVIS stopped it. Most of the men in the room turned to Natasha for her to explain what she'd seen. Steve had finally caught on to what she was doing as he had watched her stylus rather than the display.

"Clint is giving us a message."

Fury spoke, "JARVIS, run the video at normal speed and normal size." He watched and finally realized what Natasha had seen. "Huh. Morse code." He was amazed that Barton was not only able to concentrate enough to say something but that he'd had such fine motor control so subtle that it seemed his captors hadn't caught on. Or had they? "So what did he say exactly?"

Reading the tablet, Natasha said flatly, "Job on. Evac 2 days."

"Now hold on a minute," stated Tony. "I get that it's Barton, and that he's a trained assassin and agent, but how the hell is he going to get out of that? I mean look at him! He's handcuffed to the chair and correct me if I'm wrong, but the whole right side of his head is all bruised up and covered with dried blood. You can't tell me that he doesn't have a concussion with all that."

"You should know better than that, Tony," said Bruce. "You've seen how these two deal with pain more than once. Don't underestimate Clint." Turning to Fury, he added, "Can we go to the evac point at least?" No matter that he'd just stated that he had faith in Clint, Bruce wanted to be close by. Just because the pain was ignored did not mean there wasn't damage. He'd be more comfortable being close enough to handle any serious trauma the agent would be concealing.

Fury might have had the same thought because he agreed. "You can if you stay in the jet. And that still means no Iron Man. You leave the suit here or you stay here, Stark."

"How about a compromise? I take the Mach 7, and Romanoff had the key to the locker it's stored in. "

"That sounds fair," said Steve. He admitted only to himself that he was a bit leery about going into the Middle East with the weird variety of weaponry now available today. Who knew what they'd run into if they were supposed to be under the radar?

Fury looked out the window at the Manhattan skyline. "I can live with that. Be at the airfield at 0500 tomorrow, or Romanoff leaves without you." He turned on his heel and said "with me" to his agent as he left. The elevator doors shut behind them. Those left behind looked at each other before heading off towards their rooms to gather what gear they wanted to take with them. As Steve walked down the hallway, he burned the image of Clint into his mind. He'd lost men, they'd lost Agent Coulson; he was damned if they would lose Clint as well.

**FOUR DAYS EARLIER**

Clint handed his passport over to immigration confident that it would pass muster.

"Business or pleasure?" asked the official.

"Business," said Clint. He handed over the accompanying documents that showed he was a contractor for a civilian construction firm.

After scrutinizing the documents and comparing the picture with the face in front of him, the official finally added a stamp to the visitor's ink-laden passport and gestured for him to pass through.

Clint heaved his bag onto his shoulder and exited into the blinding sunlight of Peshawar. Hailing a taxi, the address given was one of a modest hotel in keeping with his persona. The room itself was small but neat and on the top floor of the hotel. The last was of primary importance to Clint. It would give him easy access to the rooftops. Changing to lighter slacks and shirt for the oppressive heat, Clint descended to street level and went looking for a restaurant.

Once fed, Clint wandered around the marketplace establishing his cover if anyone was watching. His seemingly random path was in fact designed to help him spot a tail. Spotting no one, Clint slipped down a narrow alley and then another. He zigzagged in this way across ten blocks until he reached the back door of the safe house. A key wasn't needed. A thumb and retina print granted him access.

The main floor looked like a typical house. It was the hidden basement that was Clint's goal. The fridge was on a pivot plate that when pushed aside, revealed a thick steel plate door. Once again thumb and retina were needed, but Clint also had to type in his code.

The room's lights turned on, as did the computer. Clint logged in, sent his message, and waited. The time difference between Peshawar and where the helicarrier should be was eleven hours. Maria Hill's face came onto the screen fairly quickly. She informed Clint that his orders still stood and that the targets were still inbound on schedule.

"When do you anticipate evac?" she asked.

"I'm going to check out the area tonight. I'll be able to give you something definite tomorrow."

"In 24 then," she said and was gone.

"Coulson would have been a little more…encouraging," muttered Clint under his breath. The deceased agent had always made it a point to look out for both Clint and Natasha and made them feel like someone was watching out for them without hovering.

Logging off, Clint went to check out the armory. He found his favorite type of rifle, but he was thinking a bow would be better. It was silent and with his custom tips, highly explosive. Once again Coulson had his back; he had assigned the safe house an inventory that included some rather esoteric supplies. Clint found the material he needed to make at least a dozen of his special tips with what was here. It gave him something to do while waiting for darkness to fall.

0-0-0

A motorcycle was in the shed out back and Clint pulled on a tan jacket so he wouldn't stand out. His backpack contained a black jacket, hood, and night binoculars. Once he reached the city limits, he sped up. His target was a walled compound 42 kilometers away. The moon was new, but his glasses were switched to night vision. He reached his goal rather quickly.

Pulling the bike to the side of the road into a ravine he'd marked from satellite imagery, Clint changed into the other jacket and hood. The compound was a kilometer to his west. He began to move towards it keeping an eye out for traps and alarm beams.

Soon, he spotted the incline that he'd marked as his goal. He inched his way to the top and took off his glasses. Now it was time for the binoculars. They'd been treated so no glare would show.

Natasha's intel had said that the scientists would be coming up from Kohat. He figured that there would be no more than five vehicles in the caravan. But his current perch was too far away for his purposes. He could hit the convoy and kill all in it from here, but that was only the first part of his mission. The second half was to find the bombs reputed to be in the compound and render them inoperable however he could. For that, he needed to be in range of the compound, preferable inside when he blew up the convoy. He was pretty certain that he could get away in the ensuing chaos.

Clint stayed there until the sky began to lighten noting the guard patterns and the height of the buildings. Once he was certain he knew the timing of the steps and had chosen his perch, he returned to the bike and headed back into the city. The bike was purposefully badly tuned to sound like a local's bike and not out of place for this region.

After parking the bike in the shed, Clint returned to the sealed room where he left his clothes and changed back into his cover's pants and shirt. Going over the rooftops, he returned to within two blocks of his hotel before descending to the streets. He walked back into the lobby. The man on duty at the desk took in his rumpled clothes with the lipstick on the collar, smirked, and quickly forgot the foreigner who'd been out on the town.

Settling down on his bed, Clint set his internal alarm clock for eight hours and fell asleep. He would be contacting Hill again in 10 hours.

0-0-0

The sun was beginning to set as Clint settled down with his bow in hand. It wasn't his; that would have been marked going through security. It was from the safe house's arsenal. It did have the required 200 pound draw which no doubt had frustrated the agent whose job it was to stock the houses in this region of the world. No one else could draw the bow nor did any other SHIELD agent want to use a bow instead of a gun so basically it was a one-person weapon stored on the chance that Clint would be in town and need one. He knew that a bullet could pierce a gas tank but the muzzle flash could give away the shooter's position. An arrow with explosive tip would disintegrate in the resulting blast. It gave him time to get away and finish the rest of the mission.

Counting in his head the steps that the guard above him was taking as he paced around the perimeter of the wall, Clint shot his grapple up and was on top of the wall and behind the soldier before the man even knew it. Clint dropped down into the compound; the guard continued on his rounds never realizing how he'd escaped death that night. Clint didn't slit his throat because he didn't want to alert anyone that someone had breached the area. He rewound the grapple.

He ghosted towards the three-story building he had marked the evening before and his place for concealment. It gave him a great angle for the road and it might house the bombs he was looking for. He'd noticed how closely guarded it was and that none of the civilians had entered or exited. Clint shot his grapple hook up and over the highest balcony's railing, tested it to see that it was secure, and began to climb. He settled against the chimney and used its shadow to conceal his own outline. He waited. A camouflage net was in his pocket for when the sun rose.

0-0-0

It was an hour short of noon and Clint began to be concerned. His intel said the scientists would be meeting at the compound that morning. Scanning the horizon, Clint was relieved to see a cloud of dust coming from the direction of Kohat. That had to be them. The road swung around to the left before heading straight into the compound. Clint calculated the cars' speed to decide when he'd need to stand. He nocked an arrow and had another one flat under one boot. There were two more inside his shirt. He wasn't wearing his quiver; he felt it was too noticeable and hard to disguise. If he fell off the roof, he'd better make sure he did not land on his back. The barbs of the arrows would enter his own flesh.

He was ready. Now! Clint stood, fired, drew the arrows from under his foot and out of his shirt, and fired again three more times before triggering each arrow's explosive. The first car in the convoy went up with a whump of heat and sound closely followed by the other cars. All in all, it was a very satisfactory explosion. He knew SHIELD would spot it from a satellite and know he'd completed the first part of his mission. Now for the second.

He used a drainpipe to ascend to the ground and was running around towards the entrance when another explosion went off. This was unexpected for it was inside the compound. The force of the blast threw Clint into the building so hard that he lost consciousness immediately.

Shadowy hands turned the unconscious Clint over and began to search him. They stopped when they came to the SHIELD badge on his shoulder. A knife cut it off while a hand grabbed his bow from lax fingers. The shadowy form left unseen by Clint. Others soon found the agent and were not so gentle. He was dragged away into the building he'd tried to enter.

* * *

_I hope you liked it; if so please let me know. I thank you for reading!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Balancing His Ledger**

**I own nothing from the world of the Avengers and receive no compensation other than reviews. **_**Warning- a little bit of cussing**_

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Mission Accomplished**

When Clint regained consciousness, he listened to see if anyone was in the vicinity. Upon hearing no other person breathing, he opened his eyes. His head ached and the itchy feeling he had told him that dried blood was present on the right side of his head. The wound had been bad enough that the blood had dripped down his chin. He was in a plain room with one small slit of a window near the roof. There was no way he could escape that way. The handcuffs holding him to the chair would soon be gone. These people weren't that smart. His legs were still free. But he waited to see what would happen next. He didn't have long to wonder.

The door finally creaked open with the group's leader preceded by two members of the goon squad. One stayed by the door while the other came to a stop behind Clint

"Who sent you!" demanded the leader.

Clint didn't say a word. He did not say a single thing during the entire time that he was beaten, punched, and pummeled. When it became obvious to the leader that this man would be harder to break than originally thought, he called off his man.

His head swimming and his ribs hurting, Clint stared not at his captors but at the wall. He allowed no expression to cross his face. When they stopped, Clint relaxed a bit, but bitter experience told him that it wouldn't end here. There were other means of torture that wouldn't damage him as much but would be very painful. If he was still around. Which he did not plan to be.

Clint felt his thoughts dragging as through cotton. These people were idiots. Didn't they recognize the SHIELD emblem he bore on his shoulder? Considering how often SHIELD went after such terrorists, these guys must be colossal idiots. Well, he wasn't going to clue them in. He was fluent in numerous languages, but Natasha said he still had a slight accent. She'd worked with him to smooth it out, but they hadn't been completely successful in Urdu. Silence was his best option. He dropped his chin onto his chest to ease a kink in his neck. That was when he noticed that the SHIELD badge was missing. Huh. Now the anger of the men in front of him was clearer. He still wouldn't talk, but his assessment of their smarts had to be changed. They might not be as stupid as they seemed.

The goon by the door called out into the hallway. Very quickly, a short man came in with a video camera which he set up in front of Clint.

"We are going to broadcast a message demanding that your government step forward in the murder of these innocent civilians," postured the leader.

In Urdu, the leader demanded that the country responsible for the heinous assassination of guests within his country acknowledge their crime. He went on and on and Clint tuned him out. Same old rhetoric. It was time to act. He and Natasha had discussed such a situation. Carefully, so that they should not realize what he was doing, Clint began to send a message. He blinked.

If Natasha saw the video at all, Clint was certain she'd figure it out. He trusted his partner implicitly.

Finally, the group left. He waited and watched the beam of sunlight move across the room counting down the hours. Dusk turned into deep night before he was ready to move. During that time, someone had come into his cell about every two hours. Once he was certain of the pattern, Clint acted. He raised his foot up onto the knee so that the sole of his boot was close to his left hand. Using his fingernails, he slowly pried out a piece of metal that looked like a boot nail but wasn't. He palmed the strip of metal and waited for the next guard visit. Once he was alone again, Clint set to work picking the handcuff locks. Soon he was free.

He ghosted over to the door and dropping carefully to his belly, looked underneath. Voices echoed in the distance but none sounded near. He pried out another strip of metal from his boot and quickly picked the more complicated lock in the door. Standing free, he had only one thing on his mind. Find the bombs.

0-0-0

The F35 Lightning II hovered in place as the pilot determined the best landing site. He ignored the argument that was taking place in the compartment behind him. It had been going on for a while.

"Look. Fury is not here. How is he going to know if I put on the suit or not? Come on, Romanoff, this is your partner we're here to save."

Sitting on the box that held Stark's suit, Natasha waited for the histrionics to end. "First of all, this is an extraction, not a rescue. Second. SHIELD has satellite. I guarantee that Fury has one tasked above us. The heat signature of your suit is unique. Do you really want the Avengers to be disbanded?" With all the skills as a spy at her advantage, Natasha knew that Tony needed the Avengers like he'd never needed anything else. He'd found something beyond himself and for once, he seemed invigorated by being part of the team.

Tony threw his hands into the air and turned away. He didn't have the same faith in Clint's abilities that Natasha exhibited. The man was beaten and chained. No matter that he himself had once been in a similar situation, and he'd escaped. That escape had taken a long time. "So what do we do?" he exclaimed, frustrated.

"We wait," she said and leaned back against the bulkhead checking her Widow's Bite bracelets and waiting for darkness to fall. Just because Tony couldn't put on the suit didn't mean that she and Steve would stay in the jet. Bruce would stay to help keep Tony in check; she felt he didn't want to get near the situation if he didn't have to.

0-0-0

Natasha figured that she and Steve had reached the place where Clint had scouted out the compound. That was her opinion since Clint had left no sign he'd been there; it was just the best spot around. She could see the charred wrecks on the road. Soldiers circled trying to salvage whatever they could. It must have been a huge fireball. Not for the first time did Natasha wonder how Clint had been captured. The chaos of the event should have given him some cover.

0-0-0

It had taken a while but Clint had finally found the cache of ordinance on the third floor. The room was overflowing with the tools needed by an insurgency. There were electronics and explosives of many different kinds. Artillery shells, boxes of batteries for detonators, plastic explosives, manuals for a wide variety of military ordinance from several different countries, rockets, grenades, dynamite in boxes sweating out nitro, magnifying glasses and solder guns for finer work. There was a lot of shit that would blow them all to kingdom come. And Clint would help them find the way.

He'd acquired a knife searching the building; its former owner couldn't complain about its loss. His body was stashed under a table out of sight. Using the blade as a screwdriver, Clint removed the blasting caps from one of the bigger bombs and looked inside. No nuclear material in them yet. That had been his biggest concern. If they were that ready to go, his setting them off could cause widespread damage to many innocent lives.

Looking around him he realized that he could not deactivate them all. He did not have that much time; he'd be caught again. He'd hadn't heard any alarms indicating that they'd discovered he'd escaped but that window was closing rapidly. He had to take care of what was here, make sure it was unusable, and then get out. Evac would come with the dawn.

Grabbing some C4 out of a box, he placed blocks around various bombs and supplies. He plugged in blasting caps and connected them all with some det cords. Giving himself 10 minutes, Clint set the timer, turned, and ran.

The first two people he encountered didn't have time to yell. The side of one hand crushed the man's windpipe while his arm snaked around the other's chin to snap his neck. He kept moving down the corridor and counted down the seconds in his head.

0-0-0

Natasha and Steve were about 200 yards from the compound when a figure stepped away from a brush in the ravine they were in.

"SHIELD?" the figure asked hoarsely ignoring Natasha's arm pointed in his direction.

Lowering her arm slightly, she cocked her head to one side and asked softly, "What do you mean?"

Without speaking, a hand offered her something small. She wasn't able to see what it was but grasping it, she realized it was some stiff fabric. Her fingers moved across it and determined it was the SHIELD eagle. Her eyes narrowed as she asked, "Where did you get this?"

"A fallen man…" was all he got out before her hand grasped his throat.

"How!" she demanded.

"When the cars blew up, we acted at once. We set off our own bombs. They hold our children hostage. They took them when they took over our houses. They… Our bombs did not work." he broke off on the verge of tears. "Your man, he must have been too close to the blast. I found him unconscious, lying there. I could not carry him. I am sorry."

Natasha almost struck Steve when he laid a hand on her shoulder. He had seen what she had not. He had seen that the man was using a crutch. That one leg was twisted so badly he couldn't put any weight on it. Natasha had been too focused on the badge. She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. The red in her vision backed off and the adrenaline spread out throughout her body. She had control.

"Where did they take him?" she ground out from between her teeth.

Deeply afraid, the man pointed at the tallest building they could see. He looked at Steve who seemed to be more sympathetic and handed over Clint's bow.

Steve touched his shoulder in passing and nodded his head acknowledging the apology. Having been weak, he understood more than anyone the regret of not being able to do anything.

Steve boosted Natasha into the air and leaped up after her. Crouched on the wall, he jumped to the ground below and held out his arms to Natasha. She made her leap just as a huge gout of flame erupted towards the heavens from the largest building. The wash of heat pushed them back and they crouched behind a truck parked against the wall. No one could have survived that blast. And that was where Clint had been. Natasha blamed the acrid smoke for the tears in her eyes.

0-0-0

Reaching the second floor landing, Clint heard shouts echoing up the stairwell. He looked over the edge and jerked back before he was spotted. Too many for the shape he was in. He could take them but not in the next 3 minutes 17 seconds.

Opening the door from the stairwell, Clint eased into the hallway and listened. Voiced indicated that there were people on this floor but their tone told him they were unaware of his escape. Yet. Moving quickly, he ghosted down the hallway stopping briefly to be sure no one was in each room that he passed. He needed to get out!

At last he spotted something he could use. The desk had two banners on the wall above it. He entered and pushed the door slightly to and ripped them off the wall. Tying the 2 corners together, he now had a makeshift rope to ease the 20-foot drop. He secured one end to the desk's leg, looked outside to see that this side of the building was clear for the moment, and tossed the rest of the rope out the window.

Clint slid down the rope and dropped the remaining seven feet to the ground before rolling to his feet. He had 25 seconds left. Not caring if he was spotted, Clint raced towards a pickup parked against another building. He slid under in and covered the back of his neck and head with his hands.

06. 05. 04. 03. 02. 01. 00. He was impressed. It was a huge firebomb. The heat hit him in a wave and his ears that he'd tried to protect with his arms were ringing. Rolling out the other side, Clint stood and took out a C4 brick he'd kept. Attaching it to the truck's gas cap, he set the timer and eased away. Men with guns milled around not knowing what to do. Whoever was in charge had not shown up yet. Maybe they'd been killed. It didn't matter.

Hugging the wall, Clint kept moving away from the destruction towards the main gate. As he neared the entrance, his secondary charge went off and drew the attention of those standing around. That left the gate protected by only three men. Using the noise as cover, Clint was able to get within a few feet before they spotted him. The first man turned directly into his fist. That man's nose broke with a very satisfying crunch. Clint followed him down to the ground and punched him into unconsciousness. A side kick to another's elbow knocked the gun away from Clint giving him a chance to grab the gun and yank it out of his hands. He followed up with the butt of the rifle on the backswing. Striking the man in the temple, his second opponent dropped. One left. Holding the gun in his right, Clint started the uppercut from down deep and put all his pent up frustration into the blow. The third's head snapped back and he dropped bonelessly to the ground leaving the way clear for Clint to leave.

Across the way, it was Steve who spotted Clint moving towards the gate. Grabbing Natasha's shoulder, he pointed out to her what she'd missed. It would be better if they got outside the wall to help Clint from there. Steve once again boosted Natasha up and over and followed her closely. On the ground they moved using the surrounding bushes for cover heading towards the road and the gate. They would back up their teammate from there.

Knowing there were probably sentries, Clint ran out the gate and moved in a zigzag pattern down the road. Spurts of dust rose around him. Someone was actually paying attention to what was outside the walls. Bad for him. Clint focused all his concentration on getting out of range. He'd have to move fast to make it to the evac point before they sent trucks after him.

He swerved to one side as a figure outlined by the sunrise rose up in front of him. Natasha raised a weapon in each hand and fired back at those shooting. Her hair was a nimbus of light that he couldn't take the time to appreciate. Cries of pain behind him let him know she was not missing her shots. He felt safer already.

As he reached Natasha, Steve Rogers stood as well and handed Clint his bow. He had no arrow and with a cracked rib, he wouldn't have been able to draw it anyways, but he appreciated the gesture.

A secondary explosion rocked the ground beneath them. Clint had no idea what had caused that. He guessed that there had been more ordinance in a bunker or basement and that the heat had finally set it off. Those people had bigger problems than him to deal with now.

"You got my message," stated Clint.

"Yes, it worked," said Natasha. Her fingers were itching to check Clint for hidden injuries but she held back. Bruce would do that once they got back to the jet. God knew Clint wouldn't tell her about how he was feeling until the mission was completely over. As the three jog-trotted across the desert, she assessed him anyways. Respiration was a bit off but not seriously. His balance was good and there were no broken limbs, but that was all she could tell.

"We left Stark and Bruce with the quinjet a few miles away," said Steve.

Clint's eyebrows rose. Stark stayed put? Was he tied up or knocked out? He looked at Natasha out of the corner of his eye and saw her confirmation. Wow. That must be a first. Stark following orders for that was what they must have been. In perfect synch, the three Avengers finally reached the jet and climbed aboard.

Having been forewarned by the pilot of their approach, Bruce and Tony were waiting. Bruce had found bottles of water, which he handed over to Steve and Natasha. "I want to check you out first before you drink anything." The doctor pulled the younger man off to the side and ran a diagnostic tool around his torso. Assured that Clint had no organ punctures, he handed him his water. Coming up from behind, Natasha asked, "So, what's the damage?"

"Mild dehydration, a cracked rib, a concussion, lacerations and contusions."

"I'm right here doc." Clint was a little miffed at being ignored.

In the front section, Steve and Tony were going over the satellite imagery that the pilot had downloaded. Like a child, Tony kept replaying the explosions. Shaking his head, Steve asked the pilot if they were cleared to head home. At his affirmative, Steve headed back to check on the team.

Little did they know that their journey home would be delayed.

* * *

_I hope you liked this chapter. I didn't want to leave you waiting to see what had happened. It will be a bit before the next update. Not only am I a teacher, I sponsor the yearbook and UIL. This year has been horribly packed for me. What is going to happen next is in my head; I've worked out the plot. I just need to type. Thank you so much for you patience! _


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